Missing Scenes From Episode Nine
by Lady Etiquette
Summary: During the family's holiday gathering at Downton, Matthew's concern for Mary grows as he observes Richard's possessive behavior escalate. What really happened in the Christmas Special that finally led Matthew to intervene in Mary's life?
1. Chapter 1

Christmas Day 1919 - Downton Abbey

The family was enjoying an informal Christmas luncheon together in the library, warmed by the crackling fire as they tended to their presents. The red velvet cushion of the settee scrunched under Matthew Crawley as he crossed his legs, balancing a tea cup and trying to get comfortable. He sat across from Mary and Sir Richard, trying not to notice their awkward incompatibility as the engaged couple sipped their coffee, appearing indifferent to the Christmas presents in their laps.

Matthew hated Richard Carlisle. His contempt had nothing to do with Carlisle's success, or the fact that he was new money; on the contrary, Matthew admired self-made men. His hatred stemmed from the simple fact that Richard Carlisle was a cad, an uncouth self-promoting braggart, who pushed Mary around verbally and emotionally.

"Well, that's _not_ the way we'll do it at Haxby!" Richard loudly exclaimed when Mary mentioned some little Downton Christmas custom that he didn't agree with. With every sneering proclamation, Sir Richard Carlisle was dismantling Mary's traditions, the things she grew up with and cherished. Matthew grew angry watching its effect on her as she sat helplessly, but politely, unwrapping presents while her future husband took some sort of perverse pleasure in making her feel inadequate. Matthew sighed, wondering why Mary was so tolerant of Carlisle's crass behavior.

Having seen enough, he stood up and decided to help his mother with her gifts. Isobel had been observing him all morning. As he approached, she leaned toward him and whispered a soft reprimand. "Matthew, it's Christmas Day. For heaven's sake, please stop rolling your eyes and clattering your tea cup down in to the saucer. It's impolite."

He glanced over his shoulder and then back at his mother, whispering through his teeth. "The man is an ill-mannered blowhard."

"Honestly, Matthew!" Isobel was trying to keep her voice down.

"And I don't like the way he touches her and orders her around!" His tension tightened his lips in to a thin firm line.

Isobel touched his arm. "Matthew, please, Christmas Day is not the time or the place for this, my dear."

He knew she was right. His face softened as he exhaled in surrender to her gentle lecture. "Yes of course, you're absolutely right. I'm sorry." He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "Merry Christmas, Mother."

Isobel smiled, and reached up and patted her son's face as he smiled at her. She could still see traces of the boy she had raised and still adored. And she could also see that he was still in love with Mary. She chuckled and shook her head. "Your temperament is just like your father's." Looking down, she noticed one of the gifts was for him. "Oh, look. Here's one for you." She handed the small square box to him. "Who is it from?"

Matthew read the gift tag. "It's from Mary."

Isobel was not surprised in the least. "Well, open it!"

Matthew looked at her, his mood lifting, as he pulled open the box. It contained a book. He paused as his eyes read the cover, a smile pulling his rigid lips up in to a grin.

Isobel was delighted to see his smile return, a gift from Mary in more ways than one. She peered down in to the opened package. "Oh, a book. How lovely. Which one is it?"

Matthew looked up, an endearing expression across his face. "The Taming of the Shrew." He opened the cover and glanced at the inscription inside: _To Matthew – Thank you for the gift of your friendship, even when I didn't deserve it. Affectionately, Your Cousin, Mary. _

Carlisle's voice sounded like a command from across the room. "What was it you opened there, Matthew?"

Matthew turned, regarding the newspaperman. "A book," he said, crossing the room, holding it out for Carlisle's examination.

"Ah, Shakespeare."

Matthew nodded. "Yes, The Taming of the Shrew. One of my favorites" He flipped open the book and read a passage. "_Come, come, Kate, you wasp…me thinks you are too angry."_

Mary recited the next line from memory. "_If I be waspish, then best beware my sting."_ She looked up at him with humor and affection in her eyes.

Matthew read mischievously. "_My remedy, then, is to pluck it out!_"

Laughter floated around the room from everyone present, except Richard Carlisle. "Yes, yes, I'm well acquainted with Shakespeare's plays. And who gave you such an enchanting present?"

Matthew's eyes shifted from Carlisle to Mary. He noticed her expression became cautious as she returned her attention to the package in her lap again. Looking back at Sir Richard, he responded obligingly. "My Mother. She knows of my affinity for the Bard." He smiled nonchalontly, snapping the book shut, and caught Mary's wordless expression of gratitude in her eyes as she glanced back at him.

* * *

After luncheon, Mary saw Matthew standing in the hallway to the saloon, the telephone in his hand. She loved having him home for his first Christmas at Downton since before the war. The truth was, she loved having him close for any reason, but that was still her secret to hide. She saw that his face was filled with concern, and she decided to join him, already knowing what upset him. "Isabel told me you were telephoning for news of Mr. Swire. How is he?"

Matthew hung up the phone, his tall frame slightly slumped, and weighted by the news he had just heard. "Not good. I'm catching the train first thing in the morning. I hope I'm in time."

Mary was truly sorry that Lavinia's father was so gravely ill. "Is it as bad as that?" She paused, quietly sharing in Matthew's grief for the man who had almost been his father in law. "I'm so sorry."

Carlisle joined them, clutching the London Times and checking up on Mary. He was like a sentry, alway supervising her whereabouts.

She turned and acknowledged her fiancée. "Matthew's going to London tomorrow. Lavinia's father is ill."

Carlisle turned a page of the newspaper, clearly happy to see Matthew making plans to leave. "You better warn Robert if you'll miss the shoot." The paper crinkled under his large, efficient hands.

Matthew frowned, eager to let Richard know he would be back. "I'll be back by New Year's Day," he spat out. "He won't last that long, I'm afraid." His voice grew discouraged as he ran a resigned hand over his brow, hoping it would sooth his anger away. "Forgive me if I'm casting a gloom."

It had only been six months since Lavinia's death, and less than a year since Matthew returned from the front with his devastating combat injuries. Mary could see the toll another death and the family's concern for Bates was taking on him. "Don't be silly. We're all under the shadow of Bates' trial."

The sound of the dinner gong signaled time to change attire for the evening. Matthew began to think about Bates and turned to Mary. "Will any of you have to testify?"

She sighed. "Only pa-pa and some of the servants. But I'm going, to support Anna."

He could hear the concern in her tone. "Would you like me to come with you, to explain what's happening?" Then he glanced at Richard and begrudgingly realized his offer may have sounded like a trespass. "Or will you do that?"

Mary turned over her shoulder regarding Richard, knowing full well he couldn't care less about Bates' fate on the dock. "Richard wants to go back to work the day after the shoot. Don't you?"

Carlisle folded the paper, as though he were addressing his secretary. "Yes, I do…"

Carson entered the hallway, prompting everyone to begin walking toward the grand hall,to disperse and dress for the evening. Matthew walked over to the Christmas tree, stopping in front of it. He admired the fullness of the great fir, its immense size, and the elegant ornaments that glittered gracefully like jewlery from the boughs.

Mary joined him, her hands clasped behind her back, her holiday cheer returning to her voice. "Pretty isn't it?"

Matthew smiled. "Yes. There must over two hundred ornaments on it." His eyes travelled upward to the top of the tree in wonderment. "Maybe three hundred!"

She looked at him fondly. "What were the trees like that you grew up with?"

Happiness filled his expression at the thought. "Well, not as large as this, of course, but it was always a full spruce that we would decorate as a family. Many of the ornaments were ghastly little creations I had made in school as a child. Others were lovely heirlooms from my grandparents." He reached out and touched one of the shiny glass balls. "My father would hold the ladder so I could crawl up to put the angel on the very top."

Mary watched happily as he recalled the memory. She liked learning about his family's traditions. "I'd like to see those ornaments," she said quietly, keeping her voice soft and reassuring. "Did you and Isobel put a tree up at Crawley house this year?"

His attention focused on her again. "Yes. You should come 'round and see it before we take it down."

"Yes, I'd like that!" Then Mary looked bewildered. "You mean you and your mother actually take the tree down _yourselves_?"

His eyebrows arched upward in amused surprise and he chuckled. "Of course. That's half the fun, putting it all up and then tucking everything away again for the year. Anyway, I hope you'll come and see it before it's taken down." He turned back at the tree again.

Mary fleetingly daydreamed of them together, rummaging through boxes of Christmas ornaments and decorating their own tree. "I think that sounds wonderful."

He looked at her and saw that a smile lit up her face, as bright as the tree itself. "Incidentally, the gold heart-shaped pin you gave Anna for Christmas is very lovely."

"I hope it comforts her during such a difficult time while she and Bates' are separated by so much tragedy."

"I'm sure it will mean more to her than that." His voice was tender. "I know how much you regard her, Mary, and I'm glad for it." His eyes met hers and they shared a quiet moment. Mary unclasped her hands and reached out to touch his arm in appreciation of his support.

"Mary?" Richard's voice interrupted them. Turning their heads, Matthew and Mary saw him standing on the first landing of the staircase.

"Well," she started, noticing the time on the mantle clock, "I should head up and dress for dinner."

Matthew watched her as she ascended the large stair case. Besides loving her, he liked her. And he wanted her. His eyes took in the view of her long legs, more visible underneath the new shorter skirt she wore, admiring how beautiful her figure was as she moved up the stairs toward Sir Richard. He noticed that Richard's hand seemed to jerk her by her shoulder, as if to march her up the stairs like a child.

Matthew clenched his jaw and realized that some of his hatred for Carlisle was, in fact, contempt…resentment that he would have to watch the woman he truly loved being treated like a possession by a man he loathed.


	2. Chapter 2

Mary's arms flailed in the air as she silently acted out the phrase from her charade card. The Game was always played after Christmas dinner; and now the family gathered around the large fireplace in the grand saloon, watching Mary miming the secret clue. Laughter rose up around the room as everyone watched her attempts at conveying the hint with her physical body language, which was slightly constrained by her sleeveless black evening gown.

Matthew delighted in seeing his friend—and the woman he had harbored his love for—surrounded by their family, her spirit un-tethered to have fun. His eyes chanced a glance over at Carlisle, who sat stone faced and in deep conversation with Cousin Violet. Matthew hoped that Violet was giving him the what-for about his attitude toward Mary and her aristocratic background. He felt that Carlisle was like a noose around Mary's neck, suffocating the life and emotion out of her heart. His fingers tightened round his crystal brandy snifter and he took a sip, trying to push aside his exasperation.

Isobel's voice suddenly broke out across the room. "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall!" Mary pointed to her enthusiastically and clapped, acknowledging her winning response. The group cheered and applauded, filling the great hall with happy noise. Isobel clasped her hands together, laughing in merriment and relief that she had guessed the clue. She looked over at Matthew and caught his eye and he winked at her, still a little bit of good natured us-against-the-world between them. Christmas always made him miss his father, Reginald. Despite himself, he laughed out loud, feeling his tension melt from the warmth in the room. His holiday revelry was restored.

With Mary's clue successfully guessed, it was Richard's turn to play. Cora helped matters along by ensuring he drew a simple clue to act out, Big Ben. Richard half-heartedly mimed the notion of the giant clock, which was guessed by Edith fairly quickly, releasing him—and everyone else in the room—from his reluctant performance.

As they meandered back towards the library, Carlisle turned to Robert and Matthew. "I still don't see the point of being made to feel ridiculous."

"It's just a game, Carlisle," Matthew said trying to keep his tone light and civil. "You should have been here for the time we wore paper hats on our heads."

Richard rolled his eyes. "I need another drink." And with that he walked ahead of them to the bar in the library.

Robert stopped and leaned is head over to Matthew in a whisper. "We never wore paper hats on our heads."

Matthew smiled conspiratorially. "I just wanted to see if there were any limits to his snobbery. Apparently, there are not."

Robert exhaled in understanding. "I keep trying to imagine him with my grandchildren."

Matthew cringed playfully. The two men shared a private laugh and continued walking again. Robert patted Matthew's back. "How about another brandy?"

Matthew looked at his watch. "I wish I could but I'm afraid I must be going. My train for London leaves first thing in the morning."

"Oh, yes, you're going to visit Reggie Swire." Robert hated to see Matthew endure another loss. "I'm terribly sorry. I know how difficult this has been for you, particularly after everything you have been through over the previous several years, with the war and all. Can I do anything to help?"

Matthew framed his shoulders and gave a forlorn smile. "I'm saying goodbye to another Reginald. I don't mind saying that I'm tired of burying fathers."

Robert placed a warm, comforting hand on his presumptive heir's arm, squeezing it reassuringly. "Your father was a fine man, as is Reggie Swire I'm sure." He took a breath, "Would you like me to accompany you?"

Matthew was slightly surprised and touched. "That's very kind of you, but no, thank you. I'll feel better once I have cleared the air with Reggie, and I want to be of some support to him in his final days."

Robert nodded. "Damned decent of you, Matthew. I am so very proud of you, my son. So very proud, indeed." Robert's endearment made Matthew's heart swell. He loved Robert, who had become a real father to him in every way.

After shaking Robert's hand, Matthew bid his mother goodnight, and headed for the cloak room in the entryway of the house and gathered his hat and coat. His eyes searched around for Mary, and he was happy to see her fast approaching from down the hall.

Her feet moved quickly, knowing he was on a schedule now. "There you are! I was hoping I would see you before you left." She seemed slightly breathless but cheerful.

His lips curled upward in to gentle grin as he thrust his arms through the sleeves of his black top coat, happy to see her as well. "I wish I didn't have to leave so soon."

"I know, but there are far more important matters deserving your attention." She didn't know what to do with her hands so she wrung them together. "So then, you'll be home in time for New Years? Depending on how everything goes, of course."

He liked the way she said 'home', as though it were someplace they shared together and she would be waiting for him. He felt his insides buzz. "Yes, I should be back in a few days. I'll telephone Cousin Robert in a day or two to let you know how things are getting along."

"Good." She reached up and pulled the velvet coat collar up around his neck. "It's freezing outside, Matthew. You need to stay warm so you don't catch the death of cold."

As her warm fingers arranged his lapels, he stared in to her eyes, suddenly realizing how close they were standing to each other. Mary looked up at him and her fingers stilled, her hands resting on his chest. His eyes drifted to her mouth and he noticed that her lips were parted and her breathing quickened. He had to pull his eyes back up to her gaze, their bodies only inches apart. He smiled at her and his voice was hushed. "By the way, I haven't had an opportunity to properly thank you for the book." His hand moved down the front of his coat, fastening the buttons. He tilted his head in question. "A metaphor?"

Her expression brightened as she detected the note of humor return to his voice. "I just wanted to thank you for being my friend, and I know I haven't always earned that privilege. I suppose at times I was a bit of a dreadful wasp." She chuckled nervously, knowing it was true.

He leaned his head forward and whispered. "_Who knows not where a wasp does wear its sting, but in its tail_?"

Mary's eyes sparkled, remembering Shakespeare's next line. "_No, in it's tongue_."

He cocked his head, playing along. "_Whose tongue_?" Their mouths were inches apart.

Mary felt light headed as electricity seemed to hum through her veins. "_Yours, if you talk of tales."_

He leaned forward, his voice deep and provocative. "_What, with my tongue in your tail?"_

Mary laughed and shivered. She adored the sensation of his body heat and the notion of his tongue on her skin. He took her hand and kissed it sweetly, pulling his head back up just far enough to gaze in to her eyes. "_Nay, come again, good Lady, for I am a gentleman." _He seemed to have a twinkle in his eyes.

Mary sighed and chuckled, her hands finding their way back to her sides. "Yes, you most certainly are."

He laughed as he positioned his hat on his head. "For the record, you were never a shrew." He turned and opened the door, then paused and looked back at her. "Well, at least not _all_ of the time."

As the car pulled away, transporting Matthew off toward London, Mary stood against the window by the door watching after him, her heart already tugged by the separation. As she contemplated a loveless life with Sir Richard Carlisle, she prayed to herself, "Thank you, God. Thank you for looking after Matthew. Please bring him home safely again."


	3. Chapter 3

Matthew stood on the front stoop of the Swire home, a large respectable house of white stucco and granite on a street corner in Belgravia. Staring at the wreath on the front door, he flexed his gloved fingers out and back in to a fist, trying to release the nervousness he felt at being with Lavinia's family again. He felt he had let Lavinia down and in doing so dishonored her family. Still, he wanted to make his peace with her father, Reggie.

His thoughts were interrupted by the front door opening. Expecting an adult to answer the door, Mathew looked straight ahead, but then looked down where he saw a young girl with strawberry blond hair and vivid blue eyes. Her resemblance to Lavinia almost took his breath away. "Hello, Susan," he said, smiling sincerely.

"Matthew!" Susan Swire, Lavinia's young cousin, giggled with excitement to see him again. "Oh, please, please come in!"

As he stepped inside, taking his hat off, he looked at her fondly. "My, my! What a young lady you've become!"

Susan straightened her posture, her hands clasped in front of her. "Yes, I'm quite grown up now. I just turned thirteen and am in my first year at Queens Gate."

Matthew bowed his head slightly. "How wonderful. Has all this growing up made you too old for hugs?"

She giggled again, "Not yet!" and rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Matthew pretended to gasp and hugged her in return, patting her back affectionately.

"Hello, Crawley."

Matthew looked up in time to see Reggie's nephew, Tom, descending the staircase, dressed in an Army officer's tunic, holding a cigarette between his fingers.

Matthew stood up straight, an arm still draped around Susan's shoulders. "Hello, Tom. I'm so glad you called me." The two men shook hands cordially.

Tom Swire was a tall man, with the same fair coloring as Lavinia's. "I'm glad you could come. Uncle Reggie was asking to see you." Matthew noticed the rank on Tom's epaulettes. "I see congratulations are in order. When did you make major?"

Tom gave a crooked, appreciative smile. "Several months ago. Thank you."

Matthew tried to lighten his tone. "I was just getting acquainted with Susan again. I can't believe how much she's grown." Susan beamed up at him.

Tom smiled at his oldest daughter, who clearly still had a crush on Lavinia's beau. "Susan darling, would you please excuse us?" Susan nodded sweetly, glanced up at Matthew, and reluctantly made her way from the room.

Tom Swire cleared his throat. "I appreciate you coming, Crawley. But just so we understand each other, it was at my uncle's request." He reached over to a nearby table where an ashtray sat and stamped out his cigarette. "I'm afraid I still have some trouble with how you left things with my cousin."

Matthew exhaled. "Yes, I certainly understand how you feel and I respect it." He did understand because he knew how he would feel if similar circumstances occurred to Edith. "As I said at the funeral, Tom, I am so terribly sorry, for everything. And I believe Lavinia knew that."

Tom's six foot three inch frame stood imposingly as he listened to Matthew. "Well, all right then, if you'll follow me I'll take you up to see Reg." As Tom headed up the stairs, Matthew followed, still wearing his coat.

Reggie Swire was sitting up in a large bed set up in the study. As Matthew entered, it struck him that the room reflected the life of a lawyer. It had expansive built-in bookcases on every wall, a large roll top desk, and several large bright windows that welcomed the afternoon sun. Since Mrs. Swire was deceased, Reggie's home reflected a sense of male practicality.

"Matthew!" Reggie's voice sounded hoarse, but nevertheless it was still the voice of the man he had known. He waved the younger man in with a hand. "Do come in, and take off your coat."

"Hello, Reggie. I'm so glad you had Tom call me." He shrugged his coat off, and then shook Reggie's hand. The older man squeezed his hand warmly in return. There was a chair beside the bed and Matthew eased himself down in to it.

"Thank you for coming Matthew." Reggie rested his head back against a pillow. "I hope it wasn't an inconvenience, what with the holidays and all."

Matthew sighed incredulously, waving his hand as if to reassure Reggie. "Don't be silly."

Reggie sat up straighter in the pillows as Matthew leaned forward to help him. "You're probably wondering why I've asked you here."

Matthew looked perplexed. He presumed it had simply been to make their peace. "Whatever I can do to assist you Reggie, I'm here to help in any way I can."

Reggie patted his hand. "Good, because I'd like you to handle the probate of my will."

Matthew listened intently and nodded comfortingly. "Yes, of course, I'd be happy to."

"My nephew's career in the military keeps him hither and yon, and I wouldn't want anyone from my old firm to know about my estate."

"Yes, yes, I completely understand."

Reggie regarded him. "And I want you to take fifteen percent from the estate for yourself as your legal retainer."

Matthew shook his head. "Absolutely not, Reggie. Your money should be for your family. I'd be happy to probate the will on a pro bono basis. I couldn't possibly take a fee like fifteen percent."

Reggie laughed. "Don't get your hopes up. I'm not worth that much. And don't cut yourself short. I realize you are the future Earl of Grantham, but in the meanwhile you're still a young attorney and you have to eat and pay your bills." Reggie smiled and kept his eyes studied on Matthew. "And what about Mary Crawley? It's been six months. Any news you care to share?"

Matthew sighed self consciously. "Lady Mary is still engaged to marry Sir Richard Carlisle."

Reggie scowled. "She's still engaged to Carlisle? Good God!" He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "The man is a vulture."

Matthew shrugged and nodded knowingly.

"Does she know you care for her?"

Matthew sighed, sitting back in the chair. "With everything that happened with Lavinia, and our broken engagement, I suppose it's for the best." Matthew's eyes dropped to his hands in his lap.

Reggie eyed him carefully. "Nonsense!"

Matthew looked up at him in question. "You of all people should understand."

Reggie spoke as he blew his nose in to a handkerchief. "Matthew, I didn't like how things ended with you and my daughter. But the fact of it is that many wartime romances fail to make it to the altar." He thought for a moment before continuing. "What's the old saying? To woo in haste is to marry in leisure?" He smiled. "You and Lavinia met under extraordinary circumstances due to the war and became engaged without really knowing each other. It was inevitable that once the war was over, a change of heart might occur. You were not the only young wartime couple that called things off. And her illness was not your fault." He pasued and let out a breath. "I'm just glad she shared what were to be her final years with an honorable young man like you."

Matthew held his gaze and spoke softly. "I did love her Reggie."

Reggie smiled and nodded, his face filled with compassion. "Yes, yes, I know you did." He patted Matthew's hand.

"I just wanted to do what was right by everyone."

"Well, where the heart is concerned, I'm afraid that's not always enough." Reggie could see the concern in Matthew's demeanor. "I think you've carried the weight of the world on your shoulders long enough." He leaned closer to Matthew. "I think it's high time you stop worrying about doing the _right thing_, and follow your heart to the _right woman_. Don't you?"

* * *

Mary and Sir Richard were standing alone in the library. He ran a finger along the length of her arm and leaned in closer to her, speaking just next to her face. "It's nice to finally be alone together."

Mary took a deep breath. She felt restless and Richard's advances were becoming more and more uncomfortable. But she went along with everything these days. "Yes, it is."

Richard took step closer and bent his head, kissing her cheek. "You smell wonderful, my dear." his voice was deep and gravelly in her ear.

Mary stood still like a statue, afraid that moving might encourage him. She chuckled awkwardly. "Thank you. That's very nice of you to say."

Richard took another step in to her, causing Mary to take a step backward, until they were up against one of the bookcases. He pressed up against her as his lips travelled from her cheek to her jaw, his words just a whisper. "It's been so long, Mary."

She closed her eyes. All she could think of was Matthew. She felt self conscious and prayed for an intrusion.

* * *

As Matthew walked up the hotel stairs to his room, a sudden chill overcame him and he dropped his room key. He bent down and collected it and proceeded to his door. He felt a sudden sense of alarm that he couldn't define or understand. He turned the key and entered his room, looking around to see if something of concern was inside, but the room appeared just as he had left it. He unbuttoned his coat and tossed it over a chair, and loosened his necktie. As he moved about the room he still felt troubled.

His eyes stopped on the telephone sitting on the desk. He walked over to it and lifted the receiver. "Hello operator, this is Mr. Crawley in room two-o-seven. Could you please connect me with Downton five-five one?"

* * *

Richard's tongue brushed against Mary's ear. She had become a good actress with Richard, but didn't want to lead him on entirely. "Richard, we really shouldn't," she whispered as he continued his ministrations.

He paused and pulled his head to look at her. "Why? Is there a problem?" He waited for an answer. "Or is it something else?"

Mary's thoughts raced to find a reply, her heart pounding. What to do, what to do! Suddenly, the silence in the room was shattered by the sound of the telephone ringing, followed by the sound of Robert's footsteps falling confidently along the hallway as he neared the library. "Oh," she said, "It's the phone. Pa-pa will be here any second."

It was enough to compel Richard to take a step back. But the look in his face indicated their conversation was not over.

Robert entered the room swiftly, and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, Robert."

"Matthew! How is everything? How is Reggie?" He glanced over at Mary and Richard who were now standing properly by the fireplace.

"Not well, as expected. The doctor thinks he may last until morning, but not beyond that I'm afraid." Matthew ran his fingers along his brow.

Robert contemplated his next words. "Did you make your peace my boy?"

Matthew thought about it. "Yes, I think we did. I appreciated his time and we had a nice chat. I plan to be with him again in the morning." He turned the topic of conversation to Downton. "Robert, is everything alright there?"

Robert seemed confused, but looked around. "Yes, why shouldn't it be?"

Matthew nodded as he thought. "No reason, I just had a sense that maybe something might be amiss."

Robert smiled. "No, no. I'm just standing here with Mary and Richard."

"I see." Matthew began tugging his necktie off. The thought of Mary and Carlisle alone in the library bothered him. "Well I won't keep you; I just wanted to check in."

"Well I appreciate it. So we'll see you in a day or so?"

"Yes, I think so. Definitely in time for the shoot." Matthew slid the tie off and tossed it over on top of his coat.

"I'm so glad you squared things with Swire."

"Thank you, Robert. I feel better for it. I'll see you in a few days." With that, Matthew slid the receiver back in to the handset and set the phone down on the desk. His thoughts turned to Mary and he recalled Reggie's final advice…. "_Follow your heart to the right woman."_


	4. Chapter 4

New Year's Eve – 1919 Downton Abbey

Reggie Swire died on December 27th. Matthew had been with him, along with Tom, and everyone felt it had been a peaceful and quiet death. Reggie had passed away in his sleep. As Matthew and Tom made a few arrangements, Tom had presented Matthew with a box.

"What's this?" Matthew examined the box before opening it.

Tom shoved his hands in to his trousers. "I found it in Uncle Reg's office. I thought you would want to have it. I know Reggie would like you to."

Matthew opened the box and saw the framed picture lying inside. He lifted it out and saw that it was the engagement photo that he and Lavinia had taken for the Times. In the photo, he was wearing his Army uniform and Lavinia was wearing a dress that had been one of his favorites. The frame was antique, gold gilt and probably French. As he held it he felt a surge of sentimentality. "I remember the day we took this. Lavinia had fussed about her hair." The memory prompted a gentle chuckle at the memory, and he traced a finger over the photo.

As Tom watched Matthew he saw genuine regret and loss in his face. "I know you cared about her, Crawley."

Matthew's eyes looked up at him. "Yes, I did. And I wanted to do the right thing."

Tom stepped toward him and patted him on the back in a friendly gesture. "I can see that. And I hope you find every happiness."

* * *

Despite Mr. Swire's death, Matthew returned from London feeling somewhat renewed. He had been dreading seeing Reggie Swire again, but their reunion turned out to be cathartic. Matthew was glad he had written the truth to Reggie after Lavinia's funeral, conveying Lavinia's doubts and that he had felt responsibility for it. By visiting Reggie he was able to come to terms with his fiancée's death—and his own survival from the war—as well as his feelings for Mary; he needed to turn a page in his life emotionally, and he did. He was happy to be alive and ready to welcome the new year.

Matthew walked in to the entryway at Downton carrying his suitcase, a duty he refused to have the chauffer do when arriving at his own residence. It was after nine o'clock in the evening and he looked around for signs of life. Carson appeared, walking briskly from the grand saloon. "Mr. Crawley!" His voice was welcoming and firm, "please let me help you with your bag. You don't need to carry that, sir."

Matthew politely waved him off. "I don't mind at all, Carson, really. But as my clothes are already with me, I wonder if I might have my old room back for tonight?"

Carson nodded formally. He liked it when Mr. Crawley stayed at the house, particularly when Richard Carlisle was under foot. "Certainly, sir. Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay in one of the, er, more well-appointed rooms upstairs?"

Matthew smiled, his tone was cheerful. "Nonsense. The little room off the first floor suits me nicely. It puts me in mind of my bachelor quarters at my Army post. It's a simple but stately little room, don't you think?"

Carson agreed. Truth was he liked the room himself and felt it suited the young heir. "I'll ask one of the maids to make up the bed, sir."

"Splendid. Thank you, Carson." Matthew set his bag down and began unbuttoning his coat. "Where is everyone?"

"The ladies are dressing for the New Year's gathering later this evening, and I believe his Lordship is finalizing the preparations for the shoot tomorrow with the game keeper."

"Well I'm glad to be back in time for the festivities."

Carson spoke softly. "As are we, sir. And I know Lady Mary will be glad to have you home."

Matthew gave Carson a suspicious look and whispered, "Everything alright?"

The loyal butler sighed with a raised brow. "Suffice it to say that Sir Richard is, at times, an impatient man."

Matthew pressed his lips together and tugged his gloves off one finger at a time, jerking them off in frustration. "I hope he hasn't eaten one of the servants."

Carson chuckled to himself as he accompanied Matthew down the hall to his room.

* * *

Later that evening, the family and their New Year's guests gathered in the drawing room, its colorful light green walls illuminated by the glow from the fireplace. Richard Carlisle held his champagne glass, elegantly dressed in white tie and wearing his frustration on his face. He turned to Mary. "Once again, the servants are downstairs and we're on our own."

May exhaled, frustrated to hear yet another complaint from him. It wasn't that his lower-class background handicapped him. He simply didn't want to understand how a domestic staff, or anyone else who worked for him, should be treated with respect. "In the whole year we fend for ourselves on Christmas lunch and New Year's Eve. It doesn't seem much to me."

"You haven't had to fight for what you've got." His face and tone were severe.

Mary rolled her eyes, embarrassed by his conduct. "Oh, do try to get passed that. It makes you sound so angry all the time." She always felt a sense of loneliness when she was with him; isolated from the world and her heart.

Matthew stood across the room, in conversation with his mother and Edith, but quietly observed Carlisle and Mary. It disturbed him to see Mary saddened so frequently, particularly on what should be happy occasions. He was convinced Carlisle intentionally took pleasure in Mary's unhappiness, but he wasn't sure why; nor was he sure why Mary continued to put up with it. He saw an opening in their conversation and stepped over to her to say hello.

Mary was pleased to see him, a welcome and happy distraction that lifted her heart. "I hope London wasn't too grim."

"Well, I got down there in time, which is the main thing." He was clearly relieved to have seen Mr. Swire. "And I was with him when he died. So he wasn't alone."

Mary was touched by Matthew's openness about his feelings, and amazed at the stark contrast between him and Richard. "I'm so sorry…and so glad." She looked up in to his eyes and saw his emotions and something new about him. Determination? Contentment? She wasn't sure.

The clock on the mantle chimed at the stroke of midnight, and Robert raised his glass to propose a toast. "Happy New Year everyone!"

The group responded to his toast in unison, "Happy New Year!" The room was filled with happy well-wishes and the clinking of crystal glassware. Robert leaned over and kissed Cora next to her ear, delighting her at his public display. Richard put a hand on Mary's back and leaned in to her to place a kiss on her lips, and she complied politely, sharing a courteous smile with him, but not much more.

Matthew gave Isobel a warm and affectionate kiss on her cheek, "Happy New Year, ma-ma." His hand gently rubbed her arm and he smiled at her.

"Happy New Year, my darling boy." Isobel Crawley felt truly grateful to welcome a new year with her son safely by her side, returned from the war and healthy again. She could not have been more proud of him, and it showed on her expression, which everyone noticed.

As Mary watched their exchange she thought of the old adage, that one can always tell how a man will treat his wife by how he treats his mother. She felt jealous at the notion that some lucky woman would capture his heart again and would receive the abundant love and respect he gave so freely to Isobel. No matter how frustrated he and Isobel had ever been with each other, their bond and love was never compromised. Mary felt the same way about her father, too. She crossed the room and leaned up to kiss Robert's cheek. "Happy New Year, pa-pa."

The Earl smiled down at her and clinked his glass with hers. "Happy New Year my dear." But somehow he doubted that she felt much happiness at all.

* * *

After the gathering was concluded, everyone headed to their rooms to retire for the evening. The shoot was to commence the following morning bright and early.

Mary found herself wandering down the hall, off the saloon, toward Matthew's bedroom. She smiled as it brought her memories of when he stayed at the house during his recovery, and how much she had enjoyed seeing him every day and what a miracle his recuperation had been. She heard some noise from his room, and peered inside, finding Matthew bending over the open suitcase on his bed. "I thought I heard someone in here."

He smiled up at her. "Since I had my bag with me, I thought I would stay the night. It will save me a little time in the morning as I'll already be here."

She leaned against the door frame, her head slightly fizzy from the champagne. "Yes, I quite agree." As she watched him unpack a few things, she happened to notice the framed picture laying in the bag. She walked over and looked down at it.

"Reggie's nephew, Tom, gave that to me. It sat in his study." Matthew stood in his white dress shirt and vest as he hung his tail coat up in the armoire.

Mary lifted the large heavy frame up in her hand and admired it. "It's a lovely picture, Matthew. And the frame is beautiful."

He smiled over at her in agreement.

Mary looked across the room at the desk, and saw the picture of Dr. Crawley and Isobel that Matthew had placed there during his recovery. He had left it behind and Mary liked having a reminder of Matthew's family and the life he had led. She looked over at him, holding the frame up. "Do you mind?"

He looked at her quizzically. "Not at all."

She crossed the room to the desk and gently arranged the picture of Lavinia and Matthew next to the one of his family.

He returned to busying himself with his clothes, speaking as he unpacked. "Will you be joining us on the shoot tomorrow?"

She smiled. "Absolutely! It will be our first since the war. And the luncheon is always wonderful."

He stood in front of her. "I'm glad." She had grown so accustomed to Richard's cold severity; she always seemed to melt at Matthew's warm tenderness. He looked at her seeming to read to her mind. His voice softened to a hush. "I haven't had a chance to wish you a happy new year properly, have I?"

Mary looked up at him. The hour had grown late and her eyes were a little sleepy and her voice dreamy. "Happy New Year."

He leaned down and pressed his lips softly against her cheek, just near her lips. "Happy New Year," he murmured against her skin. He held his lips against her just a little longer than he should have, but she leaned in to him, starved and delighted for the affection. She could smell his cologne, a soft vanilla and leather scent. His lips were tentative against her, wanting her to want him in return. She rubbed her cheek against his mouth, encouraging him to linger a little longer, which he did. She felt desire warm her womb and begin to spread out to her fingers and toes.

The sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall prompted her to step back and Matthew leaned over his suitcase again. He gave her a knowing look of concern and started to say something, but she held her hand up and shushed him.

Richard Carlisle appeared in the hallway, looking in at them, and stepped in to the room. "Mary? Are you coming up?"

"Yes, of course. I was just catching up with Matthew about Lavinia's father. He brought a lovely picture home that he was showing me and…"

"Yes, yes, it' all well enough, but it's late. Time for you to go to bed." He waited in the doorway, his feet firmly planted.

As his hands rummaged around in the suitcase for nothing, Matthew's eyes looked up at Carlisle from under his brow. As the presumptive heir, Downton Abbey was, for all intents and purposes, his home and he had every right to have a conversation with Mary in his room. He wanted to throw the braggart out, but he bit his tongue. He didn't want Mary to get in to any more trouble than she already was. "Yes, in fact I think she was just saying she was headed upstairs."

Mary nodded politely and joined Richard, but continued saying goodnight. "I'm truly glad your trip went as well as could be expected, Matthew."

He stood and regarded them both. He wasn't sure he could bear to live in Downton once they were married; he couldn't stand the thought of watching them go up to the same bedroom together. "Thank you. I appreciate your kindness, and I'm just glad to be home."

Mary wasn't quite positive, but she thought it was the first time she had ever heard Matthew refer to Downton as his home. Despite the cold hand that grabbed hers, her heart was warm again for the first time in days.

* * *

**A/N **Thank you ever so much for your reviews and feedback everyone! I really appreciate it. I know I took a little poetic license with the storyline between Matthew and Mr. Swire, but I felt it would fill in a blank or two (while maintaing some plausibility.) Thank you for reading! :)


	5. Chapter 5

As Matthew dressed in his hunting tweeds the following morning, the household was already bustling with activities for the shoot. He leaned over to the window and looked out front, seeing Robert and the game keeper, Barnard, and a group of gentleman. Matthew picked up his coffee cup and took a sip of the extra strong brew Mrs. Patmore knew he favored, and then quickly finished knotting his necktie. He wasn't particularly enamored with hunting—but it was tradition at Downton, and he liked that Robert opened the estate up to hunters from all over the community to join in the hunt. He inspected himself in the mirror ceremonially, situated his shooting cap on his head, and made his way out the door and down the hall to where Carson and Barnard stood by the weapons table in the grand hall.

"Good morning, gentleman."

Both men nodded to him in greeting. "Good morning, sir." Carson was in fine fiddle, enjoying a day filled with various responsibilities and showing off the house and the estate to their visitors.

Matthew surveyed the long, double barrel rifles on display. His firearms expertise was limited to military side arms and weapons; double guns not only made him slightly nervous, but he was a terrible shot. He exhaled in quiet frustration.

As Carson watched he seemed to notice Matthew's trepidation. "His Lordship's collection is quite extensive, Mr. Crawley. Perhaps you might permit Barnard to make a recommendation?"

Matthew cleared his throat, liking that idea. "Yes, that would be most kind, Barnard."

"I'd be happy to assist, Mr. Crawley." The game keeper reached down to the end of the table and efficiently lifted up one of the rifles. "Might I suggest this Cogswell and Harrison? This is a fairly new model, and the barrel is slightly shorter. It should give you a little more control, sir." He held the rifle out and Matthew grasped it firmly. He snapped open the boxlock and eyed the chamber, then rested the unlocked rifle over his left arm and picked up a handful of ammunition shells which he slipped in to the side pocket of his jacket. "Thank you, gentleman. You've been extremely helpful in preserving my ego this morning."

Carson and Barnard smiled at the heir's self deprecating humor as Matthew headed out to join the hunting party.

* * *

The winter morning was beautiful. A fine mist hovered over the dew covered grounds of the estate. The hunting dogs wondered about, happily wagging their tails and occasionally woofing to announce their excitement. As Mary stepped out in to the morning sun she put a hand over her brow and looked around to see who was already gathered. No sign of Matthew, but she saw Richard and Robert and walked over to join them. "Good morning, everybody. Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Richard was busy inspecting his gun and chatting with an assistant game keeper, but glanced over at her with a perfunctory, "Good morning, my dear." He pecked her cheek, and then turned back to the conversation at hand, something to do with ammunition.

She thought he might notice her new green hat that she had purchased just for this occasion, but if he noticed it he didn't say anything. She reached up and touched it self-consciously. Robert's eyes glanced between the two and he noticed the detached manner in which Carlisle always seemed to treat Mary.

Matthew emerged from the house and saw Mary standing next to Carlisle. She was wearing a plaid skirt and jacket with an emerald green felt hat, decorated with feathers. He thought she looked lovely, but decided to hold his compliment since Richard was standing next to her. He headed over towards them until he was standing right beside her.

The assistant grounds keepers were coordinating how the ladies would accompany the men on the first drive. Carlisle brushed off those plans and issued a command. "Lady Mary will stand by me."

Mary was perturbed by his comment. "Now just a minute," she started, wanting to participate in the shoot protocol.

Matthew interrupted her. "And I thought you were going to stand by me for the first drive? Isn't that what you said?" He looked at her matter-of-factly.

She regarded him in sheer surprise. "Did I?" At first Mary was perplexed because she hadn't remembered saying that at all, but quickly realized Matthew's cover story was giving her a reprieve from Carlisle for part of the morning. "Oh, yes!" She suddenly said excitedly, turning back to Richard, "I think I did." She nodded her head to put a fine point on the notion. She was stunned by Matthew's possessive escapade to be partnered with her. Carlisle looked at both of them and appeared to accept their story, and headed off with Robert and Aunt Rosamond. Mary shared a furtive glance with Matthew, quietly maintaining their scheme. He looked at her from the side of his eyes and chuckled. She wasn't sure what suddenly prompted this protective side of him, but it made her heart swell and she made a mental note to thank him later for his intervention.

* * *

As the group walked across the expansive grounds, Mary looked around enjoying the countryside. They were surrounded by enormous evergreen trees and lush green grass. Matthew walked beside her, balancing the rifle in the crook of his left arm.

She talked happily as they walked. "I know you don't particularly enjoy hunting, but I'm very glad you wanted to join the shoot today."

He was taking shorter strides so they could walk side by side, through the thick grass, keeping his eye on Mary's feet to ensure she didn't stumble. "I don't mind the hunt. If I see something I want, then I go after it. I just think some finesse is required and I don't always feel like I'm skilled at it."

She laughed. "Are we still talking about pheasants?"

He looked at her sideways. "I am if you are."

She laughed again. Flirting wasn't something Richard did. He thought it was childish. But she had missed it sorely, and loved it with Matthew. Maybe a little too much. "Did you make any New Year's resolutions?"

"Not really," he sighed as he stepped over a fallen tree branch. "But with the New Year I suppose some new plans are inevitable."

She was intrigued. "Such as?"

"Well, for one thing, Robert doesn't really need me on the estate as frequently any more. I've learned just about everything I need to at this point and I enjoy it but I'd like to return to the law firm. I don't want to get rusty." He paused and held her elbow as she stepped over a rabbit hole, and then he continued. "And you're getting married soon and will move to Haxby."

"And that's a reason to leave?" Her voice was tinged with sadness at the thought of being separated from him. She had had enough of that during the war.

He looked at her with a crooked grin. "Married ladies don't really maintain friendships with bachelors."

"But we're part of the same family, and as distant as that link might be, we're also friends. At least I like to think we are."

He smiled at her sweetly. "I do, too." Their conversation was broken off when the horn sounded. His attention was diverted in front of them. "Mary, what do you think about over there?" He pointed straight ahead, off to the right. "That should be a good position, don't you agree?"

She looked off about a hundred yards. "Yes, I think you're right." As they made their way to their selected shooting spot, the beaters began trudging in to the woods and brushes, using long sticks to beat the flora and scatter the pheasant.

Arriving at the shooting position, Mary stood off to Matthew's left, just behind him. The sound of gunfire began to fill the forest as hunters began to shoot the birds flying from the trees. She watched him pull two shells from his pocket and insert them in to the barrel with a thunking noise. "Why didn't you have a loader? Barnard would have found you one."

He snapped the barrel closed until it locked in to position. "Because I'm not very good at it. It's all double guns and I don't want a witness."

Mary smiled at his confession. "_I'm_ a witness," she reminded him teasingly.

He looked at her over his shoulder. "Then please don't spread the word of my incompetence." He seemed to be half joking and half serious and it made her laugh.

Several pheasants flew over their heads and Matthew pulled the rifle up and aimed. Mary raised a gloved hand to cover her ear. "I never know which is worse. The sorrow when you hit the bird or the shame when you miss it." Matthew fired the gun and the loud gunshot cracked through the air around them.

He snapped the gun open, expelling the shells, and began reloading. Mary thought the time was right to thank him for his earlier help with Richard. "Thank you for intervening back there, before I said something rude."

Matthew locked the loaded gun as he listened to her. "He does rather beg to be teased." He prepared to take aim again.

"The awful truth is he's starting to get on my nerves." She couldn't help from sharing such a personal worry as she knew Matthew was a confidante. "Still, you're not the person to burden with that."

As he scanned the sky for pheasant, he listened intently. "You're still going to marry him though." His remark was more a concern rather than a question.

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" she replied, knowing full well that his guilt from their previous connection meant he no longer entertained any possibility for them. He was raising the gun again so she covered her ear.

Matthew fired and a loud boom reported from the rifle. He watched the birds carefully. As he unlocked the gun to expel the shells, he chuckled. "I think I might have caught that one!"

Mary laughed. She was enchanted by Matthew's vulnerability and that he openly admitted his own lack of skill. It was a refreshing change from Richard who was a self-proclaimed expert at everything.

He hadn't hit any birds and the horn sounded the end of the first drive. Matthew cocked the gun over his arm again and regarded her playfully. "You must promise me faithfully that you will lie when they ask you how I did." She laughed again, loving that he never took himself too seriously, a lesson she took to her own heart.

* * *

She joined Richard for the second drive, following him clumsily down a hillside where he was taking position. He looked furious, looking around for something. "Where's the damn loader?"

Mary was still scaling down the hill carefully trying to join him, exasperated by his impatience and rudeness. "Probably looking for your damn peg!"

Richard looked back up at her, clearly upset. "Why were you laughing with Matthew at the end of the first drive?"

She was exasperated by it all. She knew their marriage was to be solution to hide her secret with Kemal Pamuk, but she was seriously contemplating that it was not worth it. "Because he said something funny, I suppose!"

Richard shot a stern stare back at her as his voice grew louder and derogatory. "Am I _never_ to be free of him?"

Mary was shocked. "Of course not! You know how families like ours work. And he'll be the head of it one day." She was exhausted by this never-ending angry dialogue between them. He wanted her noble background, but he didn't want the formalities that accompany it. He didn't even know the woman she was. She had half a mind to blurt out that Matthew was, in fact, returning to Manchester to practice law, but she bit her tongue not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

Richard continued his tirade. "Am I to understand that if you let me think that for one solitary minute you preferred my company to his? I've tried Mary…"

Matthew happened to be standing further down the hill as their fight ensued. As Richard's voice and accusations continued at increasing volume, his angry words floated down the hillside. Matthew was holding the gun upward preparing to shoot, but was distracted by their argument. He angled his head, listening to clarify what he was hearing.

Mary tried to defend herself. "And what about that large and rather vulgar house you purchased?"

The tone of Richard's voice and words grew more alarming. "Don't talk to me like that!" Richard's anger filled voice was now shouting at Mary. "What have I done to deserve it? What?"

Growing more concerned, Matthew climbed up to their position, his rifle angled over his arm again. "Is something the matter?"

Mary took a deep breath. She felt mortified, so she lied. "Richard's loader seems to have got lost, and this is one of the best drives. He's missing out on all the fun." She tried to keep her tone neutral, even as Richard glared at her. She averted her eyes in hopes Matthew would not see through her pretense.

Matthew looked at Richard suspiciously. Despite Mary's explanation, he knew what he had overheard. But he went along with her ruse for her sake. "I see," he said glancing at Carlisle.

The loader came running up the hill with Sir Richard's rifle. Carlisle barked at him. "Where the bloody hell have you been?"

"Sorry, sir!" The young assistant worked quickly to prepare the gun. Mary felt sorry for him and was embarrassed by Richard's abusive outburst. "I'm afraid Sir Richard's rather anxious to begin."

Matthew stood firmly in place, waiting for the situation to diffuse. He thought about remaining, but knew it would do more harm than good. He shared a knowing glance with Mary. Deciding it was safe to leave, he made his departure. "Well, I better get back to my post." He turned and tramped down the hill. As he left, Mary's eyes followed him, wishing she could go with him.

After the second drive, the party headed for the old hunters lodge for luncheon. Robert invited Sir Richard to ride with him in one of the wagons, stating that Mary perferred to walk and that Matthew would accompany her by foot.

As they walked through the forest, Mary felt happy and content. They talked about how beautiful the trees were and that most of the wildlife was slumbered away for the winter. Matthew complimented her on her hat, and how lovely it looked. As they were crossing a small ravine, Matthew held Mary's hand helping her traverse the angled hillside. She gripped his hand firmly, but despite their best efforts, she began to slip. "Mary, hold my hand tighter!"

"I'm trying! I'm trying!" She started to laugh as her feet began to give way from underneath her. As she began to slide down the hill, Matthew was still holding on to her so he began to slide down as well, losing his leverage on the turf. Their combined momentum resulted in both of them slipping down the hill, and tumbling on to the soft grass below.

Matthew leaned up, looking at her. "Mary? Are you alright?" She was lying down next to him, laughing. He smiled thinking that it was the first time he had heard her laugh like that in a very long time. "Did you bruise your head?" He felt her brow.

Mary's hand swatted his hand away playfully as she laughed loudly. "No, no. Only my ego."

He was laying on his side next to her, leaning over her. Her laughter was infectious and caused him to laugh as well. Suddenly he paused, and as Mary looked up at him she thought he was going to kiss her. She froze and her heart sped up.

His long body stretched over as he appeared to reach for something. The feel of his frame against hers aroused and warmed her. "Come here," he whispered just above her ear. Mary had no idea what he was doing but she remained still and quiet. He began to move back down to his original position next to her, and when he did she saw that he was holding a tiny bird.

"Matthew! It's a pheasant chick!" Her face was filled with delight as he carefully held the tiny fuzzy chick in the palm of his hand. She touched a gloved finger to its soft body and the tiny bird popped its head against her digit. "Oh, he's darling."

"It must have gotten nudged from its nest during the shoot when the parent flew off." His eyes assessed it gently. "Poor thing. Do you suppose Barnard or one of the game assistants might be able to nurse it until it can be released back to the forest?"

Mary smiled as she watched Matthew set the little chick on her midsection. "He is very little, isn't he?" She watched the small chick. "They can fly at three weeks of age, so it shouldn't take too much time. Well, we'll just have to give it a try, won't we?"

He stood up, helping her up with him until they were both standing. Matthew used his hand to brush the grass off her skirt and jacket, and then brushed himself off. Mary clutched the tiny chick in her hand as they began walking again toward the luncheon.

"Careful, careful…" he gently instructed.

"I know, I know." She looked at him in mock exasperation, cuddling the chick against her. "Honestly, Matthew, are you going to be this way with your children?"

He looked at the chick and then back up at her teasingly. "I think he has your eyes."

She balked lightheartedly. "Well he has your beak," she shot back, making him laugh louder.

He walked closely by her side as they found their way back on the right road again.

* * *

**A/N** I know this followed canon very closely and I didn't insert too much off-stage missing scenes, but I felt it still fills in a few things and sets the stage for the developing triangle to come. Thanks for reading everyone! :)


	6. Chapter 6

As Matthew and Mary arrived at the hunter's lodge, they saw the rest of the hunting party gathering outside, including Robert and Richard, along with Cora and Isobel and some local dignitaries. Mary wondered off toward Richard and Barnard. Matthew watched her as she approached Carlisle, studying the way he spoke to her—at her, really—and how she seemed to take it.

Isobel had joined Matthew, happy to see him. "How was the hunt?"

He spoke under his breath. "I'm worried about Mary."

Isobel looked curious, lowering her voice. "In what way?"

"I overheard an argument, a rather serious one, between her and Carlisle." He sighed and regarded his mother with serious eyes. "I think he might be hurting her in some way."

"Oh, God!" Her face was filled with concern. "Are you certain? After all, you and Mary have had your fair share of arguments, have you not?"

He tilted his head. "Yes, we've argued, to be sure. But not like this. The way Carlisle speaks to her is abysmal. His tone and the words he uses are despicable. He doesn't speak to her like an equal partner, or the woman he loves but may disagree with; no, he treats her like someone he feels hatred for."

Isobel leaned closer to him. "Do you think he has hurt her physically?"

He thought for a moment, the notion cutting in to his heart. "I haven't seen it, but from the tone of his voice and the way he yells at her, it's a possibility. And for the life of me I cannot fathom why Mary tolerates it."

Isobel's brows wrinkled in thought. "Have you mentioned any of this to Robert?"

He was still watching Mary and Carlisle. "I'd like to broach it with Mary, first, if possible." He let out a long breath. "Perhaps there might be an opportunity this evening before dinner?"

Isobel clasped his hand. "Well let me know, will you? You have me concerned now."

He nodded and squeezed her hand. "Yes, of course." As they began walking toward the lodge for luncheon Isobel looked at him. "Did you hit anything?"

He looked at her confused. "I beg your pardon?"

"Birds, Matthew. Did you hit any pheasants?"

He chuckled. "Oh. No, I don't think so. You know I'm a terrible shot with double guns." He laughed at himself. "But Mary and I saved one. A pheasant chick we found along the road."

Isobel smiled. "That's very sweet of you, my dear, but I don't believe _rescuing_ pheasants is really the purpose of the hunt. You'll give the aristocracy a bad name."

* * *

The luncheon was a festive affair. Lady Cora, Isobel and the other ladies joined the hunting party for a meal of cold duck, potatoes, fig salad and claret. Mary, Sir Richard and Matthew sat at one end of the long table, at which Matthew and Mary regaled the other guests about their rescue of the chick, which Barnard was taking to the Game Keeper's office. Mary turned to Matthew and touched on the subject of Anna and Bates' and the trial. "Anna's very grateful you're coming with us to the courthouse."

"Well, I have to go to London, but I'll be back." Matthew liked Anna, and Bates, and wanted to support them and the family through the trial.

"What are you going for?" She asked.

"Reggie Swire's funeral." Matthew spoke thoughtfully. "He wanted his ashes to be buried in Lavinia's grave. I'll bring them back."

Mary thought about the funeral arranger. "What does Mr. Travers say?"

Matthew's brow went up in contemplation. "I don't know. I haven't asked him. I thought I would do it myself."

Sir Richard listened intently to their thread of conversation, but said nothing. His eyes never left Mary's face, hoping she would notice his glare, but she never did.

Mary sipped her claret and spoke quietly. "Well, let me know when. I'd like to be there, if you don't mind?"

Matthew thought about it for a moment. Despite Lavinia's awareness of what happened between them during the dance, she had liked Mary and he knew Mary had genuinely reciprocated those feelings. He had only been back to the gravesite once since the funeral six months earlier and decided it would be nice to have her there. He looked at Mary in reply, "No, I don't mind."

Richard Carlisle said nothing, but was fuming at Mary's actions.

* * *

When Mary returned to the big house, she went straight up to her room. Her feet moved quickly as she wanted to reach the privacy of her room as soon as possible. Once inside, she gently shut the door behind her and leaned against it until it was closed. She stood there momentarily, in the quiet of the room by herself. Gradually, tears began to slip down the cheeks of her face. She raised a hand to her mouth to muffle her crying, trying desperately to collect herself. She began taking deep breaths, resting her hand against her stomach and let her head drop back against the door and bit her lip. She hadn't realized how hard she bit herself until after a moment she could taste the iron metal sensation of blood on her tongue.

Suddenly, there was a voice on the other side of the door. "Mary? I'd like to speak with you."

It was Richard. She closed her eyes in frustration before taking another deep breath, wiping her eyes dry and opening the door. "Hello, Richard." She looked at him casually. She kept her tone light and raised her brow to underline her question. "What is it?"

Richard squared his shoulders. "I don't want you to attend Reggie Swire's burial with Matthew. Crawley is a grown man and he can handle it by himself."

Mary looked at Richard and could see that it wasn't just jealously that plagued him, but also a genuine lack of concern for other people. She had said it herself, Richard Carlisle worked in a tough world and his entire life was one enormous business deal. "Alright, if that's the way you feel about it, I won't." She knew it would be pointless to argue.

Sir Richard regarded her and nodded. "Very well, then." He straightened his jacket. "I think I'll get a nap in before dinner." He leaned in toward her and kissed her cheek. Then he turned to walk down the corridor to his room, his footsteps falling firm and solid on the old wood floor. The thudding sound made Mary think of an executioner, stepping on her spirit and snuffing it out. She closed the door again, unable to prevent her tears from falling once more.

* * *

"I think that's the best pheasant dinner I have ever tasted." Matthew said it chattingly to his dinner partners, which included Mary and Aunt Rosamond, who chuckled at his observation.

"How many birds did you get today Cousin Matthew?" Rosamond's question was sincere.

Matthew eyed Mary from the corner of his eyes, and then looked back at Rosamond. "Well, truthfully, I'm afraid I'm not a very good shot with a rifle."

Mary spoke up brightly. "On the contrary, I was with you for the first drive and you did splendidly!" She looked at Rosamond in earnest and then took a sip of wine, watching Matthew from under her eyelashes.

Aunt Rosamond looked back at him. "Well, that is quite a testimonial from Mary. She should know as she is quite a good marksman in her own right."

He turned to Mary and looked at her with a quizzically raised brow. She leaned toward him and whispered in his ear. "You told me to faithfully lie when they ask me how you did, so I'm just holding up my end of the bargain."

Matthew laughed. "I wonder how our baby is fairing?"

She smiled. "Barnard said he made a nice crate for it and that it's drinking water and happily eating worms and berries."

"Huh, good, I'm glad to hear it. We should name him Lucky."

Mary laughed and took another sip of wine.

Across the table, Richard was not paying any attention to Cora as he stared down at Mary and Matthew. Suddenly the guests stood up and the table began to disperse, the ladies heading for the parlor. Richard rose quickly, still holding his napkin, in time to stop Mary as she was departing the dining room.

"Have you thought of a date?"

She was taken by surprise but wanted to sound congenial. "I thought we talked about sometime this summer?"

Richard was exasperated. "I'm only asking to set a date!" His voice was becoming louder.

Mary felt agitated that he brought this up in such a public venue and was so clearly annoyed with her. "But what's the hurry?"

Richard looked stunned. "Hurry?" The timber of his voice had become stern and elevated. "Glaciers are fast compared to you on this Mary!"

She turned to walk away, and Richard's hand grabbed her arm forcefully, jerking her back toward him. Matthew was still standing by his chair and turned to see Carlisle's grip on Mary and heard the threatening tone of his voice.

"I warn you Mary…even my patience has its limits!" He spat the words out at her, his eyes boring through her.

Mary yanked her arm from Carlisle's grasp and stomped away clearly hurt and embarrassed. Matthew glanced at Robert to see that he had taken notice. He shared a knowing look with the Earl, trapped by hosting duties, and then glanced down the table to see Richard throw his napkin on the table in childish anger.

Matthew turned and headed out of the dining room after Mary. As he walked, he felt something inside of him snap. His blood boiled at the sight of Carlisle hurting her arm and verbally abusing her again. _God, damn him!_ He thought. He walked faster wanting to protect her and ensure she was alright.

As he rounded the corner in to the great hall, he saw Mary up ahead. "Mary!" He whispered loudly, catching up with her. "Can I help?"

She turned around, her expression one of reluctant embarrassment. He thought she might cry, but instead she answered him. "After today I won't insult you by asking what you mean." Her eyes were soft and sad.

Matthew was still breathing heavily, upset and worried about Mary's safety. He could bare it no more—he had to finally say what he had wanted to say to her for so long. "You don't have to marry him, you know." His eyes held hers and he paused to catch his breath. His voice and his eyes softened, imploring her. "You don't have to marry anyone." He was still breathing deeply, surprised that he had put a voice to what had been in his heart for such a long time. His tone had fallen to a whisper. "You'll always have a home here as long as I'm alive."

She was stunned to actually hear him say it—to suggest that she call off her engagement and that she could always live at Downton. The implication, of course, was that she was reaching an age when many women were no longer considered marriage eligible. It was suddenly, at that very moment, when she realized how very much in love with Matthew she truly was. She felt her heart begin to crumble in to a hundred pieces, trickling around insider of her, as tears began to well in the corners of her eyes. She had hidden the truth about Kemal Pamuk from Matthew for so many years, she felt the weight of it overbearing. It had prevented her from accepting his proposal seven years earlier, and now here they were, in an emotional entanglement that was still linked to her horrid secret. She had almost lost him to the war, and to another love, but now he stood in front of her once again reaching out to her. She looked up in to his tender lipid blue eyes that were waiting for her to say yes. "Didn't the war teach you to never to make promises?"

As he looked at her he could see the pain in her eyes…and something else. He wanted to take her in his arms, never permitting Carlisle, or any other man, to touch her again. He would happily live at Downton with her, married to her or not, keeping her safe and loving her.

She sighed. "And anyway, you're wrong. I _do _have to marry him."

"But _why_?" He could hear his voice rising, astonished that she would actually consider going through with it. "Not to prove you've broken with me, surely? We know where we stand."

She ached to tell him the truth—to bare herself to him for once and for all. But she knew she would lose him forever. "If I told you the reason, you would despise me, and that I really couldn't bare!" Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.

Matthew was still seething with emotion; he wanted to help her and to get to the bottom of the matter once and for all. He started to say something...but he was cut off.

"Mary?" Cora's voice broke in from drawing room. "Rosamond wants to play bridge until the men come through."

Mary looked away and sighed. "Yes, of course."

Matthew was not yet ready to put it away for the evening.

* * *

"Thank you for going after her." Robert swirled the brandy in his glass. "How was she?"

"Alright, I think. I just wish I could have done more." Matthew sounded forlorn, his eyes glancing across the library in to the fireplace.

"Well, I think we've done all we can do for one night, but I'd like to have a word with Carlisle in the morning."

Matthew took a sip of his drink. "I just don't know why she remains with him?" He caught himself. "But of course Mary's personal decisions are not mine to question." He looked back down in to his brandy.

Robert put a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "On the contrary. I'm glad Mary has someone who is so fervently in her corner."

The crackling of the fireplace was oveshadowed by Mary's voice. "I thought I'heard you two in here."

Matthew and Robert looked over to see her standing in the door.

Robert smiled as she stepped over to them. "Hello, my darling. Are you alright?" He kissed her cheek.

She nodded. "Yes, yes, of course. Just a misunderstanding, I'm afraid." She looked at them awkwardly, clasping her hands in front of her.

Robert turned his wrist watch up and checked the time. "Well, I'd like to spend some time with your mother before we turn in. So I'll leave you two on your own." He kissed Mary's cheek again. "Good night my dear." He patted Matthew's shoulder as he left the room.

"Good night, Robert." Matthew looked back at Mary. "Where is Carlisle?"

"He went upstairs to retire."

Matthew offered her his brandy snifter and she took a sip. He reached down and gently lifted her other arm, the one Carlisle had jerked. He tilted a lamp shade to assess her wrist. "I think you have a bruise on your forearm." He touched a finger to the tender area. Mary winced and his eyes looked up at her. "God, Mary." He stepped over to the water pitcher, pulled out his white handkerchief and dipped it in the cold water. He ushered Mary over to the divan and they sat down as he tenderly laid her arm in his lap and administered the cold compress to the bruise.

She spoke as he performed the first aid task. "It's the only time he's ever done that."

Matthew glanced up at her. "Well, if he does it again I'll break his jaw."

Mary couldn't help the corner of her mouth from turning up in a smile at his chivalry. She watched as his fingers touched her with such tenderness and care. The cold compress felt cool and soothing. And then, without warning, he bent his head down and placed a gentle kiss against her arm. His lips were soft and feather light, and brushed against her so lovingly it tugged at her heart.

He looked back up at her with a sweet smile. "I meant what I said, Mary. You will always have a home here as long as I'm alive."

Mary reached out and touched his cheek. "Don't you think your wife might have something to say about that?"

He laughed softly. "Well, that remains to be seen." He leaned back against the sofa and gently held her hand. Mary rested her head against his shoulder, watching the fireplace, and dozed off..._you'll always have a home here as long as I'm alive._


	7. Chapter 7

Mary opened her eyes to find that she was staring straight ahead at a picturesque Georgian style stone and brick country home. It was roughly twice as big as Crawley House and reminded her of a storybook home. It had several red brick chimneys that stood above the roof tops, large pane windows, and ivy clung to its corners. Rose bushes, hydrangeas, and blooming shrubbery rambled around the landscape, which led up to an inviting green door. "Oh, my," she was impressed, "what an absolutely charming house!"

"I'm glad you like it." Matthew's voice startled her and she turned and realized he was sitting next to her, in the driver's seat of a dark blue convertible, his hands resting on the steering wheel. The top was down so the sun shined in his hair as he smiled at her.

"Matthew! Where are we? What is this place?" She looked around, feeling unsure of her surroundings. She turned back around and looked at him. "Am I dreaming?"

He laughed and spoke kindly. "Yes, I believe you are." He looked at her reassuringly. "But this place is real. It's called Fairgrove Hall." He turned his attention back to the sprawling house. "It's situated between Downton and Ripon."

Mary thought, looking around. "Oh, yes I know this place. It sits off to the east. I believe Evelyn Napier's family owned it."

He opened the door and stepped out. "Yes, they put it on the market last year."

Mary got out of the car and walked around to join him. "But what's it got to do with you?"

He shrugged a little sheepishly. "Well, if I get married, I thought it would be nice for my wife and I to start out under a roof of our own."

Mary blinked. "Oh," She felt crestfallen. "I didn't realize you were thinking of getting engaged again."

He kept his eyes on the house. "Maybe. Maybe not. We'll have to wait and see."

Mary rubbed her hands together. "But what about Crawley House?"

"It's lovely, but my mother lives in it and it's bound to be her home for many years to come. I just thought it would be fun, and more private, to have a separate home for a while if I marry." He looked back at the stone manor. "And this is a little closer to Ripon where I might find a law firm that will have me, so I can also be near Downton should Robert need me." He began walking up the stone path to the front door and Mary followed. "And if I am able to have children, this place would provide more room for little ones to run about." He stopped at the front door, pulled a key out and opened it, holding it open for her as she walked inside.

Mary looked up and around at the vaulted ceilings and bright expansive walls. "It is incredibly beautiful and cozy." She walked from the entryway, down the hall and in to the large living room. A huge bay window on the far wall faced the back yard, which was a vast bowling green with several large trees. "It's so happy and peaceful."

He walked up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders, and leaned his head down toward her ear. "I'm glad you think so."

She could feel the warmth of his breath against her ear. She turned around and faced him, finding herself in his arms. "This is a dream, isn't it?"

He nodded, his eyes gazing down in to hers. "Yes, it is. A very beautiful one, I might add."

Mary slid her arms up around his neck and stood up on her tip toes and placed a kiss on his lips. He made a sudden 'oof' noise, chuckling at her affectionately. She could feel his hands move up her back, pulling her up against him so she could feel the outline of his body against hers. His lips nibbled at her mouth, caressing her and gently opening her. The tip of his tongue teased her lips causing her to breathe in, taking his tongue inside her mouth. She moaned around him, running her fingers up in to his hair, her mind and thoughts whirling around her head making her lightheaded and feeling she might lose her balance. "Oh, Matthew…yes, yes…."

As he placed warm moist kisses along her jaw line she turned her head and opened her eyes to glance out the bay window, but the view had grown blurry. She felt it slipping away. "Matthew…" She closed her eyes and rocked her head back and forth, trying to clear her thoughts. "Matthew….please don't leave!" She was losing the moment, drifting away...no longer at Fairgrove...yet she could still feel him.

She suddenly heard his voice, strong and comforting. "I'm right here, Mary. It's alright, I'm right here."

She felt herself stop moving as the dream slipped away. Slowly the vision changed and she felt calm as though she was at home. She opened her eyes again, realizing she was in her own bedroom and laying on the bed. She felt serene at the sight of Matthew's cornflower blue eyes looking down at her, his hands on either side of her head. One of her hands was up in his hair, and an alluring expression covered his face.

"Oh," she said embarrassed. "I don't know what must have come over me." She reluctantly slid her hand from his soft hair, straightening herself.

He smiled suggestively. "That must have been some dream." He chuckled at her softly, reaching up to pull a strand of hair from her forehead. "You nodded off on my shoulder down in the library, so I carried you up to your room."

The door to Mary's room was ajar, and Anna walked up to it to check on her, but paused at the sound of a man's voice. She carefully and discreetly peered in through the crack of the door, seeing Mr. Matthew seated next to Mary who was stretched out on the bed still dressed in her evening gown. His hand was brushing Mary's brow.

Mary sighed looking up at him. "Thank you." She held his gaze. "Thank you for everything tonight, really."

He tilted his head regarding her. "Well, get a good night's sleep and everything will be better in the morning. I'm sure of it."

As he stood to leave, Mary leaned up on one elbow. "Matthew?"

"Yes?"

She rubbed one of her eyes with her free hand. "Have you ever heard of a house called Fairgrove Hall?"

He looked at her somewhat surprised. "Yes, as a matter of fact I have. It's an enchanting country manor house outside of Downton, on the way to Ripon. Funny you should ask, because I've looked at it a few times in fact." He studied her. "Is that what you were dreaming about?" His voice was filled with curiosity.

She blinked up at him, not sure why she asked but intrigued at the reality of her dream. "Yes. It was."

He smiled. "Was it a happy dream?" From the way she had moved her hands over his chest and in to his hair, moaning his name, he could guess as to the content of her dream, but he liked asking her anyway.

An awkward smile and a blush crept across her face. "Yes, very."

"Well, then that's all that matters, isn't it?"

She sighed. "You'd tell me, if you were planning to get engaged again, wouldn't you?"

He looked at her affectionately. "You'll be the first to know."

Mary lay back down, watching him as he left. Matthew pulled the door open and noticed Anna from down the hallway, approaching Mary's room. "Good evening Mrs. Bates." He smiled at her.

"Good evening Mr. Crawley." She had always liked Matthew. "Is there anything I can do for you sir?"

"Not at all, I was just assisting Lady Mary up from the library where she had dozed off."

"Very well sir." Anna smiled.

"I have to be in London again tomorrow, but I'll be joining you in York for Mr. Bates' court date." He avoided the word trial. "I can assure you we'll do everything we can to exonerate him. I'll personally see to it with Earl Grantham."

"Thank you, sir. Your support means so very much to both of us."

"Not at all. And in the meantime, if there is anything I can do to help please don't hesitate to let me know." He nodded politely and turned to walk down the hallway. Anna watched him, admiring his tall build and elegant demeanor, thinking back to when he had first arrived at Downton and became the heir. "Thank you, God, for Mr. Matthew," she said as she disappeared in to Mary's room, closing the door behind her.


	8. Chapter 8

The next time Matthew saw Mary was two days later, at Mr. Bates' trial, which had gone horribly wrong; the verdict against him had been Guilty by Willful Murder. Everyone had worked to console Anna and to be certain that she understood. She had collapsed in the courtroom, which had broken Matthew's heart for her sake.

Despite all the recent events, Matthew and Isobel made their plans to bury Reggie Swire with Lavinia in the cemetery at Downton. Sitting at his desk in his office at Crawley House, he stared at the urn sitting on a credenza across the room. He leaned his chin on his fist thinking that it had been just a week before that he had chatted with Reggie at the Swire home in London. It gave Matthew pause for how precious, and brief, life truly is. At Mary's request, he wanted to let her know when they would be burying Reggie, but he had second thoughts about telling her in person or calling. He didn't want to risk another violent outburst from Carlisle. So, he decided to write her a note:

_Dearest Mary –_

_Mother and I are planning to inter Mr. Swire at Lavinia's gravesite tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. You had expressed interest in joining us, and it is my sincerest hope that you will still be able to do so. I know the last few days have been exceedingly stressful, so I will completely understand if you have reservations about attending. I only want what is best for you, so please do what is in your heart and, as always, you have my utmost support._

_Affectionately Yours_

_Matthew_

* * *

Mary had joined her parents and Richard in the drawing room for cocktails when Carson walked in carrying a silver tray. "A note arrived for you, my Lady, with the evening post."

Mary looked at him in question. "I wonder who it could be from?" She glanced at the envelope but there was no return address. She slid a finger along the folded seal and pulled it open in one efficient tear. She opened Matthew's note and read it quietly.

"What is it?" Richard's voice was pleasant and matter of fact.

"Oh, nothing," she said, folding up the note and wanting to sound casual. "It's just from Isobel. Something to do with a fund raiser for war veterans at the clinic."

Robert watched Mary and could tell she was lying. He suspected the note was from Matthew. He turned to Richard. "Can I get you another drink?"

Carlisle declined. "Why would he send a note when he can call on the telephone?"

Robert spoke up as he poured himself a whiskey. "Clarkson's rather old school. He doesn't like telephones and that sort of thing."

Cora was bemused by Mary and Robert's banter about Clarkson. She had always known him to be interested in medical advances and modern technology, but she kept her own council.

Mary turned to Carson, setting the note back on the silver tray. "I don't need to hold on to this Carson. If you'd be so kind as to toss it away?"

The butler nodded, taking the note back, and headed out of the room. Sir Richard stood up. "If you'll excuse me for a moment please." He walked out of the drawing room and followed Mr. Carson down the hall. He saw him turn in to the library and followed suit.

"Mr. Carson. If you don't mind, I was wondering if I might have a look at that note?"

Carson turned around and regarded Richard Carlisle in a professional manner. "I'm sorry, sir, I just tossed it in to the fireplace at Lady Mary's request." He motioned toward the fireplace.

Richard looked over at the hearth, where the yellow flames of a fire flickered and crackled. He let out a long breath and eyed the butler suspiciously from the corner of his eyes. "Very well, then." He turned and retreated from the room.

Mr. Carson straightened his posture. Reaching in to his pants pocket, he pulled out Mr. Crawley's note. He crossed the room, and tossed it in to the blazing fire.

* * *

As Mary walked up to the cemetery, the rain poured down on top of her, tapping against her umbrella. Up ahead she saw Matthew and Isobel standing next to each other by Lavinia's grave. They were dressed in black top coats, holding large black umbrellas over their heads. The sight of them warmed her. When they stood side by side it was easy to see the resemblance between mother and son; and it always made Mary feel a loss that she had never met Matthew's father, Dr. Crawley.

Matthew kneeled down and placed the urn on the grave. As he stood up to greet Mary, he removed his hat. "You got my note."

Mary smiled, thinking back on the intrigue of the night before. "Yes, thank you." She joined them, taking her place beside Isobel.

They stood together quietly as the rain pattered around them. He looked at Mary, his eyes soft and loving, unable to hide his feelings entirely. "I'm so glad you're here." He let out a long breath. "I felt we were—all of us—part of each other's story for a while."

Mary took in his words. The rain seemed to make everything final and weepy. "And now that story is at an end."

Isobel looked at her, saddened by the notion. "In what way?"

"Well, Matthew doesn't want to live here anymore." She paused for a beat. "And I'm moving away soon."

Matthew's eyes looked up at her, his face filled with confusion. "You mean to Haxby?"

Mary's eyes held a slightly lost expression. "Wherever I go, the time we shared is over." She saw a look of concern in Matthew's face but continued with her thoughts. "And Lavinia was a part of that."

The three of them stood in respectful silence, looking at the headstone. Isobel's voice was soft and maternal in the falling rain. "Let's take a moment to remember."

When they had finished by the grave, Mary said goodbye, and as she walked away, Isobel watched her closely, and then turned to her son. "She's still in love with you, you know."

Matthew looked at her in slight surprise. Mostly that she had said it out loud. "I don't think so."

"Well, I'm sorry, but it's as plain as the nose on your face."

He grew frustrated. "I thought you didn't like her for _throwing _me over?"

Isobel gave it back as good as he could give it. "That's a different conversation."

He grew impatient. "Mother, it has to be like this." They were walking side by side back toward the street. "I'm afraid I can't explain why. At least, I'm not going to."

"Something to do with Lavinia?"

"Maybe." He was irritated that his mother was pressing him over this.

"Well, you see, I think you're wrong." They stopped as she spoke. "Lavinia wouldn't have wanted this. She was a sweet girl, and a kind girl. She wouldn't have wanted you to be unhappy."

"Mother, you don't understand!" He bit the words off, spitting them out. He was trying to keep his voice down. "I deserve to be unhappy!" His face filled with regret. "So does Mary!"

Isobel seemed confused but argued with him. "Nobody your age deserves that!" She held his stare, knowing he was frosted with her. "And if you are, and can do something about it and don't, well then the war has taught you nothing!" She was mad at his impertinence and bull-headedness.

He let out a breath of anger. "That's your opinion."

Isobel stood her ground. "Yes. It is."

He looked at her sternly, and walked away. He crossed the street and began walking up the sidewalk, the sound of his own harsh footsteps as they splashed in to the watery pavement, beating some of the anger out of him. He was furious at her for bringing up such a personal matter. He continued to beat a path back to Crawley House, passing store front windows along the way. He remembered a time when he was sixteen and had a disagreement with his mother. He could still hear the sound of his father's voice, "Don't ever turn you back, or use that tone of voice, with your mother or any other woman, again. Do you understand me young man!" He had apologized to Isobel and the memory of his father's reprimand suddenly brought some reflection to him.

Just then, up ahead at the street crossing, he happened to notice a little boy who had stumbled in the rain. His mother was helping him up and holding his hand. She pulled a hanky out of her purse and began drying his face and patting his cheek. The child smiled at her and she giggled back at him, as they darted across the street, still holding hands.

Matthew stopped. His eyes closed in exasperation. He raised a hand to his brow and rubbed his eyes and then turned around. He saw Isobel tiptoeing across the street trying to keep her new shoes dry as she stepped up on to the sidewalk. His face softened at the sight of her. He sighed lightheartedly, muttering to himself, "Alright pa-pa. I heard you. You win." He began walking back in her direction, as she walked up towards him.

Isobel's expression gave nothing away, but her voice was tender. "I know you're vexed with me. But I love you, and I want to see you happy. As did your father." Only then did her eyes glisten as she spoke.

His head tilted in regard for her. He held his elbow out for her to take. "We shouldn't spend another minute in this weather, ma-ma."

* * *

**A/N **I've always liked how J. Fellowes scripted Matthew's and Isobel's relationship, so this is how I saw their disagreement playing out. Thank you so very much for reading! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N **_Hi everyone! So sorry it took me a while to continue posting-it's been a busy week! Anyway, here we go segueing toward Mary's confession and Matthew's awareness of the Pamuk incident and her breakup with Carlisle. It's short but sets the stage. Thanks for reading and hanging in there with me and my story! :)_

* * *

Matthew and Isobel smoothed things over from their argument and enjoyed a quiet dinner at Crawley House. Mrs. Byrd had the evening off, so Isobel prepared dinner, cooking one of Matthew's favorites.

"I can't remember the last time I had coq au vin." He smiled at her as he washed down the last bite with a splash of Bordeaux.

Isobel liked feeding him things that weren't always good for him. "Yes, I know. Remember when you used to come home from university?"

He smiled at the memory. "You would make it for my first night home. It was one of pa-pa's favorite meals as well, so I think you were baiting both of us." He chuckled.

"The way to the heart of all Crawley men is through their stomachs." She paused in thought. "I'll have to teach Mary how to make it." She added as she took a sip of her wine, watching him.

He raised a brow. "I thought we agreed to set all of that aside? Besides I can't really see Mary cooking anything." He chuffed out a laugh at the thought of it. Still, the image of sharing a dinner at home together with her warmed him clear to his heart.

Isobel pressed her luck a little further. "I think you might be surprised. I think she is much more interested in domesticity than you give her credit for. And speaking of which, why don't you go up to the main house and check in on her? It was kind of her to join us at the cemetery today, but it must have been somewhat upsetting for her too, don't you think? Besides she must have had a terribly rainy walk home like we did."

He eyed Isobel, knowing this was a ploy to toss him in Mary's direction again, not that he would be complaining. Still, he hadn't been able to shake the thought of what Mary had said at the gravesite earlier, something about moving away. The notion bothered him. What had she meant? Had Carlisle accepted some position elsewhere, intending to take her away from Downton? It wouldn't be beyond him, Matthew thought as he finished his wine. And what had Mary meant when she spoke of him despising her if he knew why she had to marry Carlisle? It nagged at him. "Well, I suppose I could change my clothes and go up for a bit." He angled his wrist up and checked the time. "I suppose they're just sitting down to dinner."

Isobel felt a break through. "Splendid idea! Now go!"

* * *

Mary picked at her food. Joining Matthew and Isobel at Lavinia's gravesite had been the right thing to do, and she was glad they did it; but it also seemed to be an ending to a chapter in her life. She felt herself slipping away from Matthew as each day drew her closer to a decision to break with Richard, as her father had suggested, risk the scandal and spend some time in America at her grandmothers until the the publicity died down. Her heart sank at the thought.

"Mary? Are you alright?" Cora looked down the dinner table at her eldest, sensitive that Mary had been at Reggie Swire's interment at the cemetery. "You've barely touched your food. Would you prefer to take a tray upstairs? I know this afternoon could not have been pleasant at all."

"No, no. It's alright." Mary exhaled, fiddling with her napkin. "It was a sad ceremony, of course, and I'm glad I was able to be there. But the rainy walk home made for a rather depressing end to the entire afternoon."

Robert watched his daughter's face, seeing the truth behind her feelings. She was still in love with Matthew.

* * *

Matthew changed in to his black tie and dinner jacket. He tucked his wallet in to his breast pocket, ran a comb through his hair, and headed downstairs. Isobel greeted him, standing in the foyer and holding up his top coat.

"Thank you, Mother." He said, slipping in one arm.

She smiled as she helped him with the second arm of the coat. "You shaved."

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. "Mother..._please."_

"And you're wearing cologne," Isobel added as she stepped back, assessing her son in more ways than one.

Matthew shrugged on the coat. "They still dress for dinner so I just want to look presentable." He punctuated his comment with a lift of his chin and adjusted the collar of the coat. He remembered how warm Mary's fingers had felt the other night when she had helped him on with his coat as he left Downton Abbey.

"For who? Robert?" Isobel clasped her hands not buying a word of it.

Matthew grabbed his hat, gave her one final look, and proceeded out the door.


	10. Chapter 10

The minute Mary heard Matthew's voice in the entryway with Robert and Carson, her whole demeanor brightened. She couldn't slow her pace from hastily joining the two men. "This is a pleasant surprise," she greeted him affectionately, "What brings you here?"

Matthew nodded. "Well, apparently I arrived just in time to help with the search for Cousin Robert's dog."

"Yes, we were just preparing to look for her, poor thing. I hope no one has stolen her."

Matthew took the coat Carson was holding and helped Mary on with it. "I'm sure she's probably just gotten lost. I'm sure we'll find her."

It was cold as they walked through the forest around the estate. Mary felt the cold night air through to her bones and shivered. Matthew had an extra pair of black gloves in his coat pockets. "Here, give me your hands." She stopped and held her hands up and he carefully tugged the gloved over her fingers. "What do you mean by walking around at night like this without any gloves on?" He admonished her gently and she smiled a little sad smile at him. She instantly felt warm by the touch of his hands and the warm leather gloves. She felt tired and worn out. She loved Matthew and wanted to be with him. She no longer cared about Kemal Pamuk or Richard Carlisle; she just wanted Matthew Crawley.

His voice interrupted her train of thought. "I came up to the house tonight because I wanted to ask you what you meant when you said you had to marry Carlisle, and that I would despise you if I knew the reason."

She looked away. "Yes, you would." Her heart started to pound. He wanted to know the truth, and after all this time she felt he deserved to know. Still, as much as she wanted to tell him, she feared the truth would push him away forever.

He shook his head. "Whatever it is, it cannot be enough for you to marry him!"

"That's what pa-pa said."

He looked surprised. "So you told him?"

Her head gave a forlorn nod. "Yes, I did."

Matthew seemed slightly fed up. "And does he despise you?"

Mary was pragmatic. "He is very disappointed in me."

Matthew studied her. "Even so," his voice was tender and reassuring, "please tell me."

Mary sighed and closed her eyes momentarily and then opened them again and looked at him. "Do you remember some years back, the Turkish diplomat who stayed here at the house?"

Matthew's eyes were glued to hers. "Yes, of course. As I recall the gentleman died of some mysterious circumstance in one of the guest rooms."

Mary paused and let out a long breath. "Mysterious, yes, but…not exactly in one of the guest rooms."

Matthew cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

She looked up at him, uttering the words only as they came to her, in reluctant beats. "He was with me when he died."

Her words floated around Matthew's ears. He squinted his eyes, trying to see and understand her as though the truth were a glaring light. "I don't understand?"

Mary said it more clearly but kept her voice steady. "Mr. Pamuk was in my room when he died." She took a pause. "We were together." She felt such release at finally sharing her confession after all these years. Her heart instantly felt lighter. She let the admission drift across to him.

Matthew shifted his weight on his feet, perplexed…but slowly comprehended the implication. The confession that had lightened her now served to burden him. "What do you mean you were together?" His voice was still soft, but questioning.

Mary looked in to his eyes and whispered. "We were intimate."

As though a switch had been thrown, suddenly Matthew understood what she was saying. Pamuk had not just died in Mary's room, but in her bed. He turned and took several steps forward, running her words around in his mind for greater, horrible clarity. The images that flooded his head stabbed at his heart. He looked over at the great house which loomed in front of them. He happened to notice the bed rooms on the second floor, lighted for the evening, where Mary lost her virtue to the Turk. Matthew felt wounded and hurt. Why it couldn't it have been him? And then he suddenly began to realize that the diplomat had stayed at Downton shortly before he had proposed to Mary. He spoke the words without looking at her. "That's why you never accepted my proposal, isn't it?"

"Yes. I couldn't accept you without telling you the truth. But then we quarreled, and I never had the chance. The damage was done." Her voice from behind him was sad and small.

His eye lids slid closed thinking back on that horrible argument they had had that day, not far from where they stood now, by their favorite tree. He hated Kamal Pamuk, but he hated himself even more for having assumed all those years ago that she rejected him due to money and status. It had never occurred to him that she loved him, but withheld a secret for fear of losing him. _Christ_, he thought, _what had he been thinking? _

"Say something, even if it's only goodbye."

Mary's voice pulled him back from the painful memory. He blinked his eyes, feeling hurt and lost, and finally turned to face her. "Did you love him?" Before she could answer he began to speak, "…because if it was love, well then…"

Mary put her arms up in frustration. "How could it be love? I barely knew him!"

He turned toward her. "Well then how _could you_…?"

"It was lust, Matthew!" she hesitated. "Or the need for excitement or something! Oh, God what does it matter, I have fallen! I am Tess of the d'Urbervilles to your Angel Clare! I am impure…"

Her words cut him off and surprised him. He never thought of women as feeling lust, or if they did it would only be with their husbands. His mind was spiraling. "Don't joke!" He spat out at her. "Don't make it little, not when I'm trying to understand it!" Little pieces of his heart were falling like rain drops in to his soul.

She regarded him. "Thank you for that. But the fact remains that I am made different by it. And things have changed between us."

Matthew contemplated it—all of it. And the thing was his heart still felt exactly the same about Mary. It even surprised him. Looking off in the distance he pulled his attention back to her and walked over to her. "Even so, you must not marry him!"

Mary looked in question but reassured. "So I must brave the storm?"

Matthew smiled warmly. "Yes, you're strong. You are a storm braver if ever I saw one!"

"I wonder," Mary thought out loud. "Sybil is the strong one. She doesn't care what other people think, but I'm afraid I do. Pa-pa suggested I go to New York to stay with grandmamma to ride it out."

Matthew thought about what the implications were. "And so you can find some unsuspecting millionaire?"

She nodded. "Preferably one who doesn't read English newspapers."

Matthew chuckled, but inside himself he was panicking at the thought that Mary would be leaving Downton. Leaving him. He shook his head again. "Go or stay, you must sack Carlisle! It isn't worth buying off a month of scandal with a lifetime of misery!" His words dripped with revulsion. "When is he due back?"

"Tomorrow. He and Aunt Rosamond's beau are returning for the Servants Ball."

They walked together back towards the house. Matthew slowed his steps. "You were wrong about one thing."

Mary looked at him whimsically. "Only one? And what was that, pray?"

He chuckled softly. "I never would…I never could despise you."

She chuckled with him and thanked God secretly for Matthew's understanding, and for hearing her prayer. He hadn't fled or pushed her away. They began walking together back to the house. He looked up at the dark sky. "I can't believe you compared me to Angel Clare. The man was a heartless cad. He rejected Tess after one day of marriage and headed for Brasil."

They laughed and she felt free from so many years of hiding her secret, she almost wanted to cry. "What was it you were going to say about if it had been for love?"

He looked at her. "I don't know." He paused. "I suppose just that, if love is involved then how could be a mistake, or a sin?"

They were alone as they approached the front door, and Matthew's hand reached out gently and grasped her arm. She turned and smiled up at him. "What is it?"

He slid his gloves off her hands and held one of her hands up to his lips and kissed her hand. "Thank you for telling me," he said quietly.

"Thank you for staying by my side." Her brown eyes looked large and sparkled in the evening light. "And you are nothing like Angel Clare."

He continued holding her hand in his, and bent forward and brushed his lips against hers, and whispered against her mouth gently, "Take this of me, Mary, of my consolation."

She suppressed a laugh and followed him in to the house. Her heart was free for the first time in nearly seven years.


	11. Chapter 11

Matthew sat in front of the fire in his bedroom, with his slipper-covered feet on the coffee table, and wrapped in his dressing gown. He gazed in to the fire, replaying the conversation with Mary over and over in his head. And each time, in his reverie, it still ended the same way—that he loved her. It wasn't that what happened with Pamuk didn't matter, because it hurt; it damned hurt. But it didn't change the way he felt about her, or his desire to be with her. He swirled the brandy in the snifter he was holding, lost in his thoughts. Suddenly the light from the hallway peeled in to the fire lit room.

"I thought you might still be up." Isobel slid her hands in to the pockets of her robe as she entered. "How was everything up at the house?"

"Fine," he said, sipping his drink.

Isobel observed him. "Did you see Mary?"

He set his head back against the chair cushion and exhaled. "Yes, I saw her."

"Cousin Violet telephoned me about the servant's ball in a few nights and dinner at the house tomorrow evening. She also mentioned in passing that Mary might be visiting her grandmother in New York for some time."

Matthew looked up at her suspiciously. "She mentioned it in passing?"

"Yes. She did."

Matthew let out a breath. "Well, it remains to be seen, but it would be her decision."

Isobel was standing next to him now, her hands on her hips. "And you would just let her go?"

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Mother, I thought we agreed not to discuss this?"

"I changed my mind."

"Well what would you have me do? Physically run Carlisle out of town? Drag Mary off for an elopement?" He waved his hand in the air for dramatic effect.

Isobel nodded. "If that's what it takes, yes."

He rolled his eyes, but tempered the tone of his voice. "Things don't work like that in real life, ma-ma. It isn't always so simple."

"Well it doesn't always have to be so complicated either. When people love each other they should do something about it."

"Like what?" He sounded exasperated.

"Fight for her." She looked at Matthew and held his stare. "If you love her, and I believe that you do, then fight for her." She turned to leave the bedroom, but stopped to finish her thought. "And please don't invoke the name of that sweet, dead girl, again."

Matthew looked back at the fireplace, flickering and popping, like the thoughts in his head. His heart clenched at the thought of losing Mary forever. _Fight for her,_ he thought. _Yes, fight for her!_

* * *

The following night Mary was with Sir Richard alone in the library. She had planned it that way so they could break off the engagement. She knew he would be angry, and she was right. He was fuming. "My God, Mary what more could I have done?" He turned to face her, his voice controlled but filled with anger.

"Nothing." Her heart was racing and she was desperate to finish the conversation. She had cared for him once, but this was the right thing to do. "But you must see we are not well suited and we would never be happy."

Richard turned on her. "Well you won't be happy by the time I'm finished with you, I can promise you that." He spewed the words out at her.

"Of course I'm grateful…"

"And so you should be!" Richard's voice boomed across the room toward her, loud and commanding.

Mary stood stunned at his tone and words. She could hardly believe her ears that she was hearing these vile words from the man who had proposed to spend his life with her…to take care of her.

"I bought your filthy scandal! And I kept it safe from prying eyes!" He took deep breaths as his voice crescendoed. "And why have the papers not linked Bates' trial to the great Earl of Grantham?"

Mary felt beaten up and pushed around, but she tried to stand her ground. "I suppose you stopped all of it."

"…With threats, bribes and calling in favors, yes I stopped it!" Richard eyed her with contempt.

Mary sighed, not knowing what to say. She felt afraid of him but reticent. "Pa-pa will be so thankful."

Richard walked toward her. "You don't think it holds now, do you? You don't think I'll save you or him for one more day?" His tone was dark and mean, as he slowly walked toward her. She felt herself take an imperceptible step backward.

* * *

Matthew and his mother had just entered Downton, arriving for dinner. Isobel had gone to join Cora and Violet, and Matthew headed down a hallway toward the drawing room, but happened to over hear the voices coming from the library, which sounded like an argument. He paused and approached the library door, standing quietly and waiting. He knew he shouldn't, but listened to see if he should interrupt. Carlisle's voice was becoming louder and louder, more menacing with every word. Matthew felt a cold shiver up his neck and grew concerned for Mary's safety. He braced his hand against the door knob.

* * *

Mary shouted back in frustration and defeat, "And you wonder why we wouldn't make each other happy!"

The door opened loudly, and Matthew walked in. He was relieved to see her toward one of the bookcases. "Mary? Is everything alright?" He could see the fear welling in her eyes.

Richard accosted him. "Oh, here he is." He spat out. "The man who can smile and smile, and be a villain."

Matthew and Mary exchanged knowing looks.

Richard's tirade continued, taking aim at Matthew. "Is she not trusted even to get rid of me, without your help?"

Matthew looked back at Mary. "I heard shouting and thought you might need my help."

Richard's words became angrier. "Lavinia knew it, you know. She knew you never loved her…"

The room fell deathly still. Mary was in shock, looking at Richard in astonishment. Matthew's head turned, almost unable to believe Carlisle had said it. He felt his blood boil. His voice was restrained. "Don't you _dare_…"

Carlisle began walking toward him. "Oh, yes, she said it once. It was late, and she was tired, and you two were locked together in the corner of the room. And she said, 'If he could just admit the truth there might be a chance for all four of us'."

Matthew looked at Mary with grief and guilt covering his face, and then looked back at Carlisle, "You liar!"

Richard laughed. "I am not a liar. Oh, I am many things, but not that." Richard took a breath. "She regretted it of course, but still, she said it."

Matthew felt something snap inside of him. Perhaps it was Carlisle's fowl words, or years of war and the loss of Lavinia, or his love for Mary rising to her defense…or all of it. He would never really know. But in the next second he felt his control and refinement completely slip away. "You bastard!" His fist shot out, smashing in to Carlisle's jaw. He hit him hard enough that he felt the bones in his right knuckles crunch against Carlisle's face. The blow took Richard by surprise, throwing him off balance as he stumbled across the room.

Carlisle regained his footing and grabbed Matthew by his jacket, plunging him to the floor. On his fall to the ground, Matthew hit his head against a table supporting a Chinese vase, and he felt a stabbing pain split across his brow. The vase tumbled off the table and smashed against the floor with a loud crash.

The fight was abruptly interrupted by Robert as he entered the room. "Stop this at once!" He approached Mary and touched her arm, before addressing Richard. "I presume you will be leaving in the morning, Sir Richard. What time should I order your car?"

Matthew and Carlisle both stopped and regained their composure. Carlisle straightened his jacket and oiled his way up to Robert. "How smooth you are. What a model of manners and elegance." Richard's tone was sarcastic and demeaning. "I wonder if you'll be quite so serene when the papers are filled with your eldest daughter's exploits?"

Robert hated the man, grateful that Matthew had finally put Carlisle in his place—he deserved it. "I shall do my best."

Violet came running in to the room, rushing to Mary's side. "What on Earth's the matter?"

Richard addressed her respectfully. "I'm leaving in the morning, Lady Grantham. I doubt we'll meet again."

Violet looked at him and tilted her head. "Do you promise?"

Robert quietly rolled his eyes, just wanting to end the confrontation. Richard let out a long breath, and exited the room, his firm footsteps announcing his departure.

* * *

Matthew sat on the red divan. His hair was sticking out in all directions, his legs stretched out in front of him, his white tie undone and his evening clothes were completely disheveled. Mary was leaning toward him, holding a cotton ball up to his face. He had a bruise on his eyebrow and a cut lip. "Ouch!"

Mary's arm fell back, "Please, Matthew, I must put some disinfectant on these scratches."

He held a hand up. "It's nothing, Mary, truly!"

She tilted the disinfectant bottle on to the cotton ball again. "I'll be the judge of that." She said it firmly and leaned closer to him again, returning the cotton ball to his forehead.

He sat patiently while she administered her medical aid. Her head was close to his. His eyes could follow the slope of her neck as it descended down to her chest and bust line, and in to her dress. He could smell her perfume. He licked his lips trying to think of the right words to say. "I want to apologize to you for my conduct this evening."

Mary stopped and looked at him. "Whatever for?"

"For the spectacle with Carlisle." He looked toward the fire, feeling embarrassed. "It was a sophomoric display of male bravado, and I'm sorry I lost my temper and my comportment." He crossed his arms as though to emphasize his point.

Mary's lips turned up in to a grin and she tugged at his jacket. "I thought it was rather chivalrous, actually." She chuckled at him. "Sir Richard Carlisle may be a knight of the realm, but you are our knight in shining armor."

He looked back at her, self consciously. "Really?" His voice was gentle and unsure.

She nodded. "Mm-hmmm," she murmured, reaching up again to attend to his wounds. "I thought it was quite brave of you to defend Lavinia's honor."

His eyes softened as he looked at her. He reached out and stilled her hand. "It wasn't only Lavinia's honor I was defending."

Mary regarded him and smiled. "Well, none the less, I thought it was noble. And I thank you."

Matthew's mind pondered as she tended to him. "Do you think Carlisle was right? Do you think Lavinia really said those things?"

Her eyes locked with his and she saw the uncertainty in his face. "When I first saw you and Lavinia together, I knew you both felt deeply about each other and with great admiration. And I think in wartime feelings and love can be complicated because everything happens so fast." She glanced down at the cotton ball which she rolled between her fingers. "Lavinia knew you are a man of honor and deep devotion and I believe those things are part of what drew her to you." Mary patted his hand. "It was you who held her hand and told her you loved her when she was so very ill. And even if she did say those things to Carlisle, which I am not convinced she did, I think she knew you loved her in your own way."

Matthew's expression revealed his gratitude to her and his hand squeezed hers in return. A childlike smile curled up the corners of his mouth. "Thank you." His smile grew wider and a pain stung his cut lip "Ow!" He reached up to touch his injury.

Mary frowned, looking at his mouth. "Here let me disinfect that."

His hand shot up and stopped her. He carefully reached up and took the cotton ball out of her fingers and tossed it over in to the fireplace, where it made a blazing entry in to the fire. He looked at her defiantly, a playful gesture in his eyes. "Please, Mary, enough with the antiseptic. I had medics in the war who were not as obsessed as you are. Besides," his voice grew teasingly tender, "I thought kisses always made little injuries better?"

Mary held his gaze, warmed by the look in his eyes. "But what if it infects the cut on your lip?"

His eye lids grew heavy, as he looked from her eyes to her mouth. His fingers slid between hers and he pulled her closer to him. "I'll take my chances." His hand continued to gently tug her toward him, and she leaned forward. They paused just as their mouths barely touched, their lips brushing against each other. Neither of them moved as their breaths intermingled. Matthew leaned forward just enough to gently touch his lips to hers. They kissed tentatively at first and he could hear her sigh in to him. His hand reached up to touch her cheek and she parted her lips, inviting him deeper in to her mouth.

Just then Robert's voice broke in through the doorway as he entered with Isobel and Violet. "Well I think we've all had enough excitement for one night. Let's see how our hero is doing."

Matthew immediately stood up. He touched his fingers to his lips and straightened his hair. He smiled at Robert and the ladies. "Yes, in fact I was just saying to Mary I had lost track of time." He glanced at Isobel, who was eyeing him.

Robert patted Matthew's shoulder. "I cannot thank you enough dear chap for stepping in this evening. I don't know what Mary would have done without you. But you must have a bite to eat, so please stay for dinner."

Matthew smiled slightly bashfully and he glanced over at Mary. The group began to walk out of the library and toward the dining room. Matthew touched Robert's arm to get his attention quietly. Robert paused and the two men remained in the hallway as the ladies walked ahead chatting. He kept his voice low. "Robert, I wonder if I might come round tomorrow and have a word with you about something?"

Robert looked at Matthew trying to read his expression. "Of course. Is it anything serious?"

Matthew gave a slight smile. "Somewhat, but I hope you'll think it's something wonderful and will provide your consent."

Robert's mind recalled seven years earlier when Matthew had asked for Mary's hand in marriage in much the same way. "Yes, of course. Why don't I meet you at the Grantham Arms for lunch in the dining room tomorrow?"

Matthew smiled and shook Robert's hand. "Thank you, I'll look forward to it."


	12. Chapter 12

Matthew stood in front of the Swire's gravesite. Where the other day had brought buckets of rain and gloom, this morning brought sunshine beaming brightly across the cemetery and a winter mist hovered just above the ground. Matthew took his hat off and fiddled with it in his hands, trying to conjure the right words. "Hello Lavinia. I'm afraid I'm not very good at this sort of thing." He sighed and looked around to see if anyone was watching him. "Some people believe the departed can hear the living. I don't know if that is true or not, but I like to think I'm open minded." He chuckled to himself. "The thing is I wanted to let you know, or rather, I would like to seek your understanding about a matter that's been on my mind. You see, you were right. Since you've been away, Mary has decided not to marry Richard Carlisle." He paused. "So I am going to ask Cousin Robert for his permission to propose to her." He stopped and pressed his lips together before proceeding. "And the thing is that I'd like to know that you understand." He slid the brim of his hat through his fingers. "I know it seems like an odd thing for me to ask you, but I just felt you should know, and I'd like to know that in some way you might approve. Perhaps you could show me a… "

He hesitated as an elderly couple walked by. Matthew paused until they passed. He glanced around again before continuing, speaking in a low voice. "Perhaps you could show me a sign? Like something you loved?" He thought for a moment. "Snow. I remember how much you loved the snow. Remember the snowman we made in the courtyard behind your father's house?" He laughed to himself softly. "Snow would be the perfect sign from you. It isn't forecast to snow tonight, but if it does, I'll know it's your way of saying that you know and that it's alright."

Matthew remained for several long moments. He put his hat on and walked out of the cemetery, in the direction of the Grantham Arms.

* * *

The Grantham Arms was a proper English inn. The original building was built in 1780 by the First Earl of Grantham, made of shale stone and brick, large windows and five hotel rooms. It was expanded in 1880 by Robert's father who added a full dining room, a lounge, sixteen hotel rooms, and charming fireplaces throughout. Several of the hotel rooms were corner suites, with water closets and French windows.

Robert walked in to the dining room and spotted Matthew at a table in the corner. As he approached the table, Matthew stood up and extended his hand. "Hello, Robert. I appreciate your time today."

Robert clasped his hand in return, shaking it warmly. "Not at all, my dear lad, not at all." As they took a seat and ordered lunch, Robert privately remembered when Matthew had asked him for Mary's hand all those years ago. He was thankful Matthew returned safely from the war so he could ask again. "Now, what is the item you wish to discuss?"

Matthew clasped his hand on the table. "Well, since Mary has decided to break off her engagement with Carlisle, I know she has made plans to visit America."

Robert looked at him and realized that Mary had told him about Pamuk. "So, I see, so you are aware of Mary's plans to visit her grandmama in New York?"

Matthew nodded. "Yes, I am." He hesitated then continued. "And I'm wondering if she might stay if I asked her to?"

Robert looked at him inquisitively. "Asked her in what way?"

Matthew swallowed and adjusted his necktie. "Well, I was wondering if she might stay if I asked her to remain in England…so that we might be married." He paused and quickly added, "If she'll have me, that is."

Robert smiled. He began to respond, "Well, I…" He was cut off.

"I've brought my financial portfolio if you'd like to review my financial affairs and business prospects." Matthew slid the black leather bound folder across the table to Robert. "You'll be in charge at Downton for many years to come, so Mary would be a solicitor's wife for a very long time. I wanted you to be reassured about my affairs."

Robert's face softened. "Yes, yes, of course I'm sure all of your affairs are in order. But my dear boy you know that Cora and I already think of you as our son, so if you are asking me for my blessing, than you most certainly have it." He looked at Matthew sincerely. "And when it comes to my daughter I'm more concerned with affairs of the heart."

Matthew turned his pint glass in his hand. "I asked you for her hand seven years ago, and only just recently learned of her reason for not accepting me back then. But I can assure you that I love her with all my heart—I always have." He looked at Robert intently. "And even if she should turn me down, Mary will always have a home at Downton as long as I'm alive."

Robert smiled. "When were you thinking of popping the question?"

Matthew was uncertain. "Well, do you think this evening would be too soon?"

"Not at all, dear fellow, not at all!" Robert laughed. "Sweep her off her feet before she takes even one step on to a damned ocean liner!"

* * *

The servant's ball had been a rousing success. By ten o'clock the group was still dancing in the grand saloon. Matthew had finished another dance with O'Brien, and realized Mary was no longer at the party. She was nowhere in sight, so he went looking for her. They hadn't really spent any time together all night, accept for a dance, and he was hoping to find her alone, even for a few minutes. He walked down to the library to see if she was there. Entering the room, a fire flickered in the fireplace which warmed the room, but he saw that it was empty. Across the library he noticed the French doors along the east wall were open, the cold night air breezing in and chilling the room. Walking toward the windows and peering out, he discovered Mary standing outside by herself, looking out over the grounds, her arms wrapped around her. He watched her in secret for several moments and then realized what had drawn her outdoors.

_It was snowing._

Matthew's face was filled with surprise. "It's your sign, Lavinia!" he breathed aloud to himself. "Thank you…thank you so very much, dear girl. Thank you for understanding!" He stood up straighter and reached up with a hand and straightened his white tie as he walked through the French doors.


	13. Chapter 13

Mr. Carson walked from the grand saloon where the servant's ball was winding down, along the corridor to the library. Upon entering the room he noticed the French doors were open, allowing the cold night air in. He rubbed his hands together to warm himself and began to cross the room to close the doors, but suddenly stopped. He saw two figures standing outside on the landing. Standing just aside of the curtains to the windows, he angled his head to see who it was and realized it was Lady Mary and Matthew Crawley, who had just knelt down on one knee.

Carson froze, standing just inside the doors, by the drapes. He averted his glance from the private moment unfolding in front of him. He knew what a marriage proposal looked like and this was clearly what was occurring in front of his very eyes! He also knew more than anyone how long Lady Mary had loved Matthew and that all these years their love for each other had been misconnected by events over and over again. To leave now would mean he would have to walk back across the expansive room from the opening of the French doors, surely causing a disruption. He cursed himself for stumbling upon the moment, yet held his ground for fear of distracting or embarrassing them. From his peripheral vision he could tell that Matthew was now standing, and he and Mary had fallen in to an embrace. Carson pulled a hand along his face, waiting for the right moment to move again. He permitted himself to look out of the side of his eyes and saw the young couple twirling, Matthew spinning Mary and himself around and around in a sort of dance of happiness and relief, the snow falling all around them. Their laughter broke the quietness of the moment, giving Carson just the opportunity he had been waiting for. He saw a silver tray sitting on the coffee table in front of the divan and stepped as quietly—and as casually—as he could towards it.

* * *

Mary felt as though her heart would burst from happiness and laughter as Matthew's strong arms held her tightly, spinning her around in circles. The sound of his own laughter filled her ears as she held on to him tight, relishing the moment.

He slowly stopped spinning them, and set her down, resting his hands on her waist. He was still laughing and breathing heavily from their twirl, the night air like frosty puffs of smoke from his mouth. He felt speechless as his eyes searched her face. Her smile seemed to beam from within her, and her dark brown eyes were shining. He noticed her cheeks were bright pink. "I'm sorry, in all of our excitement I've completely lost my manners. I didn't realize how chilly it's gotten," he said shrugging off his black tail coat and swinging it around behind her and draping it over her shoulders, "there now, better?"

Mary nodded. Suddenly, without warning, she felt tears welling in her eyes. She tried to prevent them, dabbing one of her gloved fingers up to an eye, trying to hide them. But she sniffled and looked back up at Matthew. "I'm sorry."

He looked concerned. "What is it?" He spoke softly as he reached a hand in to the back pocket of his trousers and withdrew a handkerchief.

"Nothing, honestly; I'm just so happy….so very happy to be here with you." As she looked up at him, a tear slipped down her cheek and trickled over her smiling lips, leaving a glistening trail.

Matthew tilted his head, understanding how she felt. He reached up and touched the handkerchief tenderly to her cheek and mouth and then handed it to her. Mary dabbed her nose and eyes with the soft linen. It smelled like him. "Thank you," she said, gazing back at him, wearing his jacket and holding his handkerchief.

Matthew raised a hand to her face and cupped her cheek. "You don't have to thank me for loving you, Mary."

As she listened to him she recalled all of the times—countless times—that Matthew had lent her his handkerchief, his support, draped his jackets over her shoulders and laughed with her. It suddenly became crystal clear that he had loved her all along. She reached up and patted his hand on her cheek, and smiled. "Why don't we step inside?"

He nodded. "Of course." Putting a hand on the small of her back, he walked beside her toward the French doors, and in to the warmth of the room.

Mary glanced over and saw her favorite butler. "Carson!" Her voice bubbled outward.

Carson was bent over the silver tray, pretending to arrange the liqueur bottles and glasses. He stood up quickly and efficiently. "There you are, my Lady. I had wondered where you and Mr. Crawley had gotten to?" He noticed how Matthew's arm remained around her waist. Their expressions looked lit from within as they wore their hearts openly.

The couple stood beside him now. Matthew gave Mary a knowing look from the corner of his eye. "Should we tell him?"

Mary looked from Matthew back to Carson. She placed a hand on the butlers arm. "Carson, can you keep a secret?"

The butler stood at attention, playing along with the charade, his heart swelling for his Mary's happiness. "Yes, of course my Lady. Anything you and Mr. Crawley share with me is in the strictest of confidence, I can assure you."

Matthew spoke up, keeping his voice gentle and respectful. He knew Carson thought of Mary like a daughter, and she in turn loved the butler as a second father; like Robert, Matthew wanted Carson's full approval. "Mr. Carson," he began, "With Earl Grantham's approval, I have asked for Lady Mary's hand in marriage, and she has most graciously accepted my proposal."

Carson discarded his façade and a comforting smile filled his face and eyes. He looked at Mary, sharing with her the unspoken secret they had both known—that she had always wanted this. "Oh, my Lady, this is most wonderful news, indeed!"

Mary forgot herself and stepped toward Carson embracing him. As the older gentleman patted her back affectionately, she sniffed again. Matthew momentarily looked at Carson with concern, but the butler caught his eye and held up a hand behind her back, silently reassuring the younger heir. "There, there, my Lady, I know what a happy occasion this is for you."

She pulled away looking from Carson back to Matthew, who was reaching for another handkerchief, but came up empty-handed as he had only worn one for the evening. Carson reached in to his breast pocket and pulled out a well pressed pocket square which he proceeded to crisply snap open and extend to her.

Matthew felt festive. "Carson, I know it's late, but why don't you join us for a toast?"

Carson looked dismayed. "Mr. Crawley, that would be entirely irregular. I am grateful for your thoughtfulness, however…"

Matthew waved him off. "None sense. I cannot think of a more perfect person to share our first toast. I'll pour," he said, reaching down toward the brandy bottle and glasses on the tray.

Mary spoke up, her voice bubbly like a glass of champagne. "Oh, yes, I quite agree! Please join us, Carson!"

The butler was exasperated. "Mr. Crawley, please, sir. If anyone should be pouring, it is I who should…"

Matthew cut him off again, standing up and holding out a snifter. "Mr. Carson, please, you are a member of this family, and as such I am imploring you to please join Lady Mary and me in a toast to celebrate."

Carson stood still, looking at Mathew who was still hold out the crystal snifter to him. He let out a breath and gave in. "If you insist, sir." He politely took the glass. "It would be an honor."

Matthew smiled and bent down to pour another glass, which he handed to Mary, and then one for himself. The three stood holding their drinks, and Carson proposed the toast, looking at Mary. "I wish you every happiness, my Lady."

"Thank you, Carson." The two men raised their glasses slightly in her direction and then they all proceeded to take sip. The next thirty minutes were a blur as they sat and chatted, enjoying their liqueur and conversation. Carson was completely enamored with the couple and their engagement. The conversation drifted from the engagement to the events of the evening, the servant's ball, to the great house, and back to the proposal.

Carson enjoyed the last sip of his brandy and glanced at his watch, wanting to give Mary and Matthew some privacy. "Oh my, I hadn't realized the late hour." He rose from the chair and Matthew stood with him, but Carson motioned for him to sit down. "Thank you for the night cap, sir. I hope I haven't monopolized your time this evening."

Matthew's face softened and he glanced down at Mary and then back up. "Absolutely not, Mr. Carson."

Mary spoke up. "I'm so very glad you joined us."

"Thank you, my Lady." He turned to leave the room and then paused, turning back toward the couple. "Mr. Crawley?"

"Yes, Carson?"

"If I might add one thing sir?"

"Yes, of course, what is it?" Matthew slid his hands in to his pants pockets.

Carson worded his question carefully and politely. "If there is anything I can do for you and Lady Mary, before or following your nuptials, I should like you to consider me at your complete disposal, sir, wherever you and Lady Mary make your home." He paused, his hands folded behind his back. "I would consider it an honor to serve you both."

Matthew raised an inquiring brow. "Thank you, Carson. That is most kind of you." He glanced down at Mary and then back up at Carson. "Although, I should like to remind you that as you are a member of this family, our home—be it Downton or elsewhere—would be your home as well, and where you work is entirely yours to decide."

The butler shared a look with Mary and let the faintest trace of a smile tug at his face and his heart. "Thank you, sir." He turned on his feet regimentally and left, pulling the library door closed behind him. As he stood alone in the hallway, Charles Carson felt sentimental as a tear pooled in his eye. He reached up and touched it, and then glanced at his hand. "Yes, family and my home, indeed." He cleared his throat and his feet returned him to his business about the house.


	14. Chapter 14

Alone for the first time, Matthew sat back down with Mary. She had leaned back against the sofa cushion, as his jacket slipped down her arms. He relaxed and leaned back, his voice playful. "Unless I am completely mistaken, that sounded like a job application from Carson to join our home?"

Mary chuckled. "I can't believe it!"

"I can. He loves you as his own daughter, you know. I have two fathers to answer to."

She smiled over at him. "I can assure you he fully approves of you."

Matthew looked at her expectantly. "I hope so. I have the utmost respect for him." He glanced down at his watch, seeing it was almost midnight. "I didn't realize the hour." He sighed. "I suppose I should probably call it an evening."

Mary's smile disappeared. "Do you have to leave?"

He pulled her closer. "Not if you don't want me to."

She smiled again. "Thank you," she said, pressing herself up against his side. They looked at each other, gazing in to each other's eyes.

Matthew reached up and brushed several fingers across her cheek. "I think we're alone."

She rubbed her cheek against his hand. "Yes, I think so," she whispered.

He drew his thumb across her lips; she parted them, letting him rim her lower pout. His eyes looked down at her mouth as he spoke in a deep heavy voice. "I don't think we have ever kissed, before, have we?"

She chuckled softly. "Don't be silly. Of course we have." Her eyes sparkled as the room glowed from the fireplace.

His eyes bore in to hers. "I mean the kind of kiss a man shares with the woman he intends to make love to."

Mary felt a shiver run up her spine and thrum out through her arms and flush her cheeks. She looked up at him and whispered. "Some people say that if a man and a woman have been friends for a very long time, perhaps it's difficult for them to become more than friends."

Matthew bent his head and gently touched his mouth to hers, whispering in to her mouth, "Then let us find out." He kissed her tentatively at first. They brushed their lips together, testing, and exploring. More? Less? He let the tip of his tongue caress her upper lip. Like a key turning in to a lock, she opened her lips, letting him slide his tongue deeper, eliciting a quiet moan from her, which vibrated up her throat and in to his mouth.

Still seated beside each other, Matthew leaned over her, his arms going around her and pulling her body to him. He angled his head in front of hers, covering her mouth with his. His tongue slid languidly against hers, swirling around, as their teeth slid and scraped against each other. He felt her hands rub up his arms and slide on to his shoulders, pulling him closer. He leaned forward as she leaned back, so they were leaning back on the divan, his body awkwardly half over hers. He pulled away momentarily, their breaths loud and panting. Mary pushed herself up on to the divan so her legs and body were lying fully on top of the cushions, as Matthew positioned himself on top of her, his hands braced on either side of her head. She looked up in to his eyes, which were now blackest blue and something else…predatory. She slightly gasped, never having seen this look in his eyes. "I love you," he whispered, "I always have, from the moment I met you…the _shrew_ that you were."

She smiled up at him. "You accused me of wanting to _push in_."

"Yes, pushing in…" he breathed it out on to her lips as his hips gently rolled against her, brushing his body against her pelvis. His lips sought her mouth again, as his body settled down on top of her. Mary's hands went up his back as she sucked his hot tongue, pulling him deeper in to her mouth. One of her hands traveled to his hair, her fingers tunneling through his thick blond strands. She wanted to feel him everywhere, her mouth, her neck, her breasts and her body. He began kissing a trail over her jaw toward her ear and her hand guided his head to her neck. She bent her head back, providing him the expanse of her neck. He nipped and tenderly sucked the skin of her neck and the lobe of her ear. "Oh, God, Matthew…" Her mind felt drunk and she could barely speak.

He moved one of his knees, parting his legs wider, as he rolled his hips and rubbed himself up against her again. His hands moved up and down her body and pulled at her dress. He felt his mind becoming detached, wanting her and needing her. The room was filled only with the sounds of the cracking fire, their breathing and the fabric of Mary's dress rustling against the velvet of the divan.

Suddenly there were footsteps outside the door and the sound of keys. Matthew immediately stopped. He looked at Mary, who was leaning up again and smoothing her dress out. They adjusted their clothes as they returned to their seated positions. Matthew quickly ran a hand through his hair, just as the door opened, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

"Oh, Lady Mary and Mr. Matthew!" It was Mrs. Hughes. "I'm terribly sorry! I was just closing up the house. I finished shutting down the drawing room but didn't realize anyone was in here."

Matthew stood up. "It's quite alright Mrs. Hughes. Lady Mary and I were just saying goodnight." Mary stood up and adjusted his jacket on her shoulders. They both walked toward the door.

"Well, I do hope you will forgive me?" Mrs. Hughes clasped her hands together.

Mary smiled and patted the housekeeper's arm. "Not at all. It's quite late and I think we lost track of time."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Hughes." Matthew addressed her fondly.

"Goodnight, sir."

Matthew and Mary stepped in to the hallway and glanced at each other knowingly, letting out a breath. She took his hand and gave him a mischievous smile and whispered. "Follow me!"

Mary scurried down the hall, Matthew in tow. They stifled their laughter as they made their way around the first floor of the great house. They turned a corner as they continued down the hall, and Matthew could see the doors to the drawing room up ahead. Mary quietly, almost silently, opened the door of the room and walked inside, pulling Matthew in behind her.

Matthew peered out in out the hallway, and then stepped back in to the room. He closed the door until it clicked shut. Mary watched intently as he reached down and turned the latch of the door, locking it behind them.

She licked her lips and studied him. Her heart was beating wildly and she felt her blood coursing through her veins. She slowly took a step backward, toward the sofa in front of the fireplace, where the fire was dying out for the evening, a soft glow still coming from it.

Matthew looked at her, his eyes glittering in the dim room. She took another step backward, letting his jacket fall from her arms and on to the floor. All she could hear was their breathing. As he followed her, she watched his eyes bore in to her. He looked untamed—his eyes devouring her. As he walked toward her, one of his hands reached up to his white bow tie and pulled at it, loosening it and pulling it until it fell open...his eyes savage as they travelled over her.

Mary was still stepping backward, until her legs bumped in to the sofa. Her hands slid her black gloves down over her arms, pulling them off one by one. Matthew walked up to her and stood in front of her. The look in his eyes was primitive and hungry. Mary thought her knees might buckle so she reached up and finished untying his bow tie, slowly sliding it off of him and dropping it to the floor. Her fingers pulled at the first button of his shirt and pulled it open, and then proceeded to the next button.

He bent his head and kissed her, nudging her to lie back on to the sofa. Mary lay down on the cushions, stretching her arms up above her head. Matthew bent one knee, placing it beside her thigh, poising him above her. He looked down at her as he finished unbuttoning his dress shirt and pulled it out from his pants. His eyes still held hers. Bending down, he placed his hands on either side of her head and kissed her, his lips and tongue nibbling her mouth, chin and jaw.

Leaning on one hand, his other hand gently stroked the side of her waist, sliding up and down her torso, up and around the front of her dress. His hand brushed over her breasts and he felt the outline of her nipples, tracing his fingers over the stiffening peaks. She gasped and her head went back in to the cushion, her whole body shuddering at the sensation. Her eyes slid closed and her hands grasped at the cushion as she let him touch and feel her through her dress.

His fingers gently pulled at her nipples through her dress. "Is that alright?" His voice was a raspy whisper.

She wasn't sure she could speak, but found her voice. "Yes…oh yes."

He bent down and kissed her again, slipping his tongue into her mouth again. Mary's arms went up around his neck, pulling him against her. She took his mouth hungrily as her hands slid inside his open shirt, palming the skin of his chest and torso.

He kissed a trail of moist kisses over her chin and down over her throat and chest as she mewled in his arms. His mouth continued over her dress and down over her breasts, his teeth nipping at her buds through her dress. Mary's back arched and her fingers reached down and pulled at the buttons of his trousers. Matthew moaned against her, unable to move or speak as her hand moved down the front of his pants. He felt the palm of her hand slide against him through the front of his underwear. His breathing hitched. "Oh, God Mary…" He braced his hands beside her head as she touched him. He looked down in to her eyes as her hand moved up and down, his hips moving in contrast to her ministrations. His breath became ragged. "Mary…"

"Kiss me," she whispered. He bent his head and kissed her deeply, moaning in to her mouth, their bodies rubbing together. His hips began to make short thrusts. "Ung….Oh, my God," he panted against her lips feeling as though he was losing his mind. He moved one of his hands downward and pulled up the hem of her dress. His hand caressed her skin, seeking her center. His fingers found her wet silk, his finger tips making tender circles over the swollen folds and nub he felt through her lingerie. He felt delirious as Mary's tongue licked his lips and swirled up in to his mouth again and their mouths rejoined for a deep penetrating kiss. Their bodies moved and throbbed against each other until they both went rigid, groaning in to each other's mouth, their bodies seeking the release they had needed and ached for only with each other.

Matthew's hips jerked several times as Mary's back arched up in to him. Her eyes were closed but she could see starbursts at the feel of his hand between her thighs. Matthew pulled his mouth away and groaned in to her neck, panting and groaning as he let himself come undone. His body jerked again and again, as waves of tingles and small explosions pulsed from his groin through his body. He took deep breaths. Her hand continued to rub him through his undergarments and he reached down and stilled her motions "Mary, please, darling…" He panted in to her ear.

"Too much?" Her voice was velvety.

His head nodded in to the crook of her neck and she smiled, breathless at her own physical release from him. She hummed and slid her hand slowly from his trousers and wrapped her arms around him, and he relaxed against her. They lay in their crumpled heap on the sofa for several moments, breathing softly, before saying anything and breaking the spell.

Matthew moved slightly but still lay half on top of her, his cheek resting against her shoulder. "Well," he sighed, "Does that answer your question about friends becoming more than friends?"

Mary chuckled against him, her hands rubbing his back. "Yes."

He kissed her shoulder, sighing reluctantly. "I'm sorry, but I should probably go. It's grown quite late."

One of her hands moved to his head, her fingers slipping through his hair. She spoke quietly. "Tomorrow is a big day."

Matthew glanced at his wrist watch. "It _is_ tomorrow."

She laughed again and sighed, holding him tight. "I'm tired of saying goodnight and goodbye, Matthew…I'd much rather stay just like this."

He moved his head up to look down at her, his face now soft and affectionate. "Then we shall have to have a short engagement, won't we?"

She looked up in to his eyes, adoring him. "Yes," she whispered as he kissed her again, "Most definitely a short engagement." The room was almost entirely dark, as they lay sleepily in each other's arms.

"Matthew?"

"Yes?"

"I love you...I always have." Inspite of the darkness, she could feel his mouth smile against her.

* * *

**A/N** I know this chapter turned the corner to the 'M' rating, so I hope it wasn't done in an off-putting manner. Thank you for reading and there are still a few more scenes to add! :)


	15. Chapter 15

Robert took the last two steps of the grand staircase, walking out in to the great saloon, noticing the room had been returned to its normal condition from the servant's ball the night before. As he crossed the room he admired a large vase of fresh flowers that Cora and Mrs. Hughes had set out earlier that morning. He walked in to the hallway, heading for the drawing room where he planned to meet with his lawyer, Mr. Murray, at noon. As he approached the doors to the room, he put a hand on the door knob, but found it to be locked. Robert looked perplexed and jiggled the door knob, realizing it was locked shut.

Just then, Mr. Carson happened to notice the Earl trying to gain entrance to the drawing room. Curious, he walked briskly to assist him. "Good morning, your lordship. Is there a problem, sir?"

"Yes, I can't seem to get the door open. I didn't realize we started locking the rooms at night." He looked earnestly at Carson and stepped aside as the butler tried to assist him.

Carson put a hand out and turned the knob. "We haven't begun locking the rooms for the evening, sir." He reached in to his pocket, feeling for the master house key which he kept handy at all times. He felt it, but then suddenly stopped, remembering Mary and Matthew's news from the previous evening. He eyed the door suspicously and then looked at Robert, contemplating what could be on the other side of the door, and what Robert's reaction might be. "I'm sorry your lordship, I must have left my master key in my office. I'm terribly sorry, sir."

Robert waved him off in a good naturedly manner. "Oh, not to worry, Carson. I just want to ensure it's not cluttered prior to my meeting with Mr. Murray."

The butler nodded. "Leave it with me, sir. I can assure you the room will be presentable and in good order within the hour."

"Thank you, Carson. I can always count on you. I'll just head to the dining room for breakfast, then."

Carson nodded. "Of course, sir." And with that, he watched as the Earl walked down the corridor to the other side of the main floor. When he was out of site, Carson's hand rummaged around in his pocket, locating the master key, which he pulled out and inserted in to the lock. He opened the door quietly, as though her were breaking in to a house. He peered inside and then gingerly stepped in to the room, gently pulling the door closed behind him.

* * *

Matthew stirred at the sound of his name being quietly stated by a man's voice.

"Mr. Crawley?"

Matthew cleared his throat and began to move, then remembered Mary's head was on his shoulder, as she was asleep next to him on the sofa. He opened his eyes and looked up to find Mr. Carson standing next to the sofa, his hands clasped behind his back. "Carson…" He breathed it out in surprise, and immediately his eyes scanned his person, relieved to find that during the night he had buttoned his shirt and tucked it back in to his pants, returning him to somewhat presentable state, except for his black patent evening shoes which were situated on the floor beside the sofa and his evening coat and white tie, which hung on the arm of the sofa.

"Good morning, sir," Carson kept his voice low but formal.

"Good morning," Matthew said in an uncomfortable tone as he began to sit up, speaking awkwardly. "I can assure you, Mr. Carson, this isn't what it must look like!"

Carson nodded. "I wasn't thinking that it looked like anything, sir."

Matthew looked up at him, not believing him, and then glanced at Mary and began nudging her. "Mary…._Mary_," he whispered loudly. Mary's still-sleeping-face formed a frown, her eyebrows wrinkling, as she mumbled something incoherently.

"Sir," Carson whispered, "I should mention at this point that Lady Mary is not, shall we say, a morning person, so I would caution your approach."

Matthew looked back up at him, his voice quiet. "She wakes up cranky?"

Carson nodded. "Like a rattle snake, sir."

Matthew's eyebrows rose and he prodded her more gently, trying to sit up. "Mary…wake up, dear." He looked back up at Carson, who nodded in approval. The butler then crossed the room to the windows and began drawing the drapes back, letting the sunshine beam in to the bright and happy room.

Mary mumbled. "Yes, yes, what is it, for heaven's sake!" Her voice was groggy and nagging. Her eyes were blurry, so she rubbed them with one of her hands.

Matthew smiled at her but was still embarrassed at their predicament. "We fell asleep in the drawing room last night, and _Mr. Carson_ _has just come in_ and was kind enough to wake us."

Mary looked up at him realizing the situation and her eyes popped open as wide as saucers. She shot straight up in to a sitting position, examining her dress and eyeing Matthew. "Oh, my!"

He looked at her from the corner of his eye as he began slipping his shoes on. "Yes, _exactly._"

Carson returned to the sofa, holding out Matthew's black tail coat with the white tie folded on top of it. "Your attire, sir."

Matthew stood up and let out a reluctant sigh as he plucked the tie up and began tying it around his neck, his expression filled with embarrassment. "Really, Mr. Carson, I can assure you, sir, this is not what it must look like!"

Mary cringed, wanting to crawl under a piece of furniture or have the world open up and swallow her. She stood and was standing beside the two men. "We just came in here for a little privacy and then fell asleep."

Carson sighed as he bent down and picked up Lady Mary's black gloves and held them out to her. "Yes, yes, of course, my Lady, it's alright."

She let out a breath and snapped the gloves up, but gave Carson an appreciative smile for his empathy. "I'm terribly sorry if we have embarrassed you." Her hands went up to her hair, pressing the combs to ensure they were in place.

"Nothing of the sort crossed my mind, my Lady, I can assure you." He reached in his breast pocket and handed Matthew a comb.

Matthew ran the comb through his hair several times and returned it to Carson, then reached for his tail coat. "I suppose I should just slip out through the main entrance?"

Carson respectfully put a hand on his arm. "Might I suggest, sir that you exit from over there?" He pointed to one of the large windows.

Matthew looked at him. "You mean climb out a window? Like a criminal?"

"Yes, sir. You see, his lordship is down the hall having breakfast in the dining room, but he is holding a meeting in here shortly and may decide to come in at any moment."

Matthew eyed Carson, thinking it through. "Yes, I see your point. And Robert does have an extensive firearms collection." He looked directly at Carson again. "Not that this is what it looks like!"

Carson shook his head, "Of course not, sir."

Matthew took his coat and draped it over his arm as they walked toward the window. He looked at Mary, who was following them, and he smiled at her. "I'm terribly sorry for putting you in this situation."

She laughed. "Don't be." She looked up at him, her eyes warm and affectionate.

"We'll have to tell our parents this afternoon, so how about if I call you later and we can plan the time?"

"Yes, yes! It will be so exciting!" She looked at Carson who had an encouraging smile on his face.

Matthew reached for her hand and bent down and kissed it lightly. He then turned to Carson and extended his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Carson."

"Think nothing of it, sir."

Matthew shook the butler's hand as though it were attached to a commanding officer. "And I just want to reiterate that this wasn't what it must have looked like…not entirely any way." He turned, raised a leg over the window sill and proceeded out the window and moved quickly down the drive. Carson pulled the window shut firmly and closed the latch.

Mary exhaled. "Thank you, Carson. I owe you an apology."

Carson replied tenderly. "You wouldn't be the first newly engaged couple to have had a late night, my Lady." He began ushering her toward the door. "Now, I would suggest you head up stairs and change for the day. You and Mr. Crawley have a very important announcement today and I know you will want to prepare for it and be at your best!"

Mary smiled at him and reached out and squeezed his arm affectionately. She peeked out in to the hall and then stepped out, dashing down the hallway toward the staircase, and up to her room.

Carson smiled after her, then pulled out his white linen pocket square and dabbed his forehead, mumbling to himself and rolling his eyes. "Dear God in heaven please let this be a short engagement!"

* * *

**A/N ** Only a few more scenes to add to close out this "missing scenes" story. I truly appreciate everyone reading it!


	16. Chapter 16

Matthew looked around the room, taking in the festivities unfolding in the drawing room. The entire Crawley family was assembled just as they had been for Christmas. Had it only been two short weeks ago that Mary gave him the Taming of the Shrew, while Carlisle sat by criticizing the Crawley's traditions? Had it just been two weeks since he said goodbye to Reggie Swire and then buried him with Lavinia? And only ten days passed since he and Mary rescued the pheasant chic? So much had happened since Christmas and the New Year's holidays. Now the family and several neighbors, including Sir Anthony Strallon and Dr. Clarkson, gathered for a celebration of a different kind.

Carson carried in the fourth chilled bottle of Bollinger and the sound of a champagne cork popping sent smiles around the gathering. Robert raised his glass. "If I could have everyone's attention please?" As the room gradually became quiet, Matthew realized he and Mary were standing at opposite ends of the room; slightly awkward for an engagement toast, but Robert pressed on. "I'd like to propose a toast to our beloved daughter, Mary, and her fiancé, our dear Matthew." Robert looked around, suddenly realizing they weren't standing next to each other and made a joke of it. "Heaven's, they're not even married yet and they're already avoiding each other." Soft laughter rumbled around the room. "But seriously everyone, please join Cora and I in a toast honoring our lovely daughter, Mary, and the man who is already a son to us, Matthew, on this most auspicious occasion."

As everyone raised their glasses, murmuring "Hear, hear," Mary caught Matthew's eye from across the room. They both moved, maneuvering around the room until they were standing next to each other. Matthew slipped his hand in to hers and laced their fingers together. The room had fallen quiet and he looked around, coming to the conclusion that everyone was waiting for him to say something. He pressed his lips together and spoke self consciously but from his heart. "Thank you for that wonderfully kind toast, Robert. It is with great humility that I stand before all of you in the knowledge that this beautiful woman standing next to me has actually agreed to take me on." More laughter rumbled around the room. "But so she has, and I will spend the rest of my life doing my best to be worthy of her love, trust and affection." He lifted her hand up to his lips and placed a tender kiss on the back of her hand, and as he did so he saw that Mary's eyes welled with tears. As the room filled with chatter and well wishes again, he bent forward and kissed her lips. When he pulled away, he saw that a blush brightened her cheeks.

She looked up at him. "That was lovely, Matthew. Thank you."

"The toast or the kiss?" He winked at her and kissed her hand again.

With her other hand, Mary touched her cheek. "Oh, my, am I blushing?"

He smiled at her. "A little bit, yes, but it becomes you." He playfully tugged her hand. "Come with me. I have something for you." He led her by the hand discreetly out in to the hall and down in to the grand saloon, where they sat down on the circular love seat. He reached in to his pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box, which had the name Gerrard & Co engraved in the fabric. He held it out to her.

Mary blinked and looked back at him. "What's this?"

"It belonged to my grandmother, my father's mother." He paused. "If you'd prefer something different, of course we can select something else; I just thought this might be something special for you."

Mary smiled up at him and opened the box. Inside was a platinum ring with a round cut diamond in the center, and two baguette rubies on each side. The ring sparkled up at her, the reflection of the gems twinkling on her cheeks and in her eyes. "Oh, Matthew, it is truly beautiful!"

Isobel came around the corner and joined them. "Oh, yes, grandmama's ring! She would be so happy to see Mary with it."

Mary looked at Isobel, knowing this was something that would have been hers all these years. "Are you certain you want to part with this, Isobel?"

Isobel patted Mary's arm. "I'm not really parting with it, my dear. It feels more like it is an extension of something my husband and I began so many years ago." She smiled at Matthew and placed a hand warmly on his shoulder. "Matthew's father would be delighted, and seeing you with it makes me feel like he is here with us tonight."

Mary looked at Matthew and saw his expression of emotion and love at the mention of his father's name. "I am so, very honored. I…" she stammered. "…I don't know what to say!"

"Well, what do you say we try it on? Shall we?" He smiled and pulled the ring out of the box. "I guessed at the size, so I hope I got it right."

Mary chuckled. "I'm impressed. We've only been engaged less than a day and you found a jeweler who could size it in a matter of hours."

He held her hand carefully and began sliding the jewel over her ring finger, speaking softly. "Actually, I had it sized seven years ago." He looked in to her eyes as he finished pushing the ring until it was nestled in place on her finger. "It's been waiting for us all this time."

Mary was surprised and reached up and touched his cheek. She looked at her hand, admiring the beautiful jewel, which sparkled and glittered in the evening light of the room. She could no longer hold the tears in her eyes, so they tumbled down her cheeks. "I shall cherish this, always. This moment and the gift of your love."

He rested his forehead against hers. "_And now by my mother's son, and that's myself, it shall be moon or star, or what I list."_

Mary chuckled and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him in to a fierce hug, laughing and kissing his cheek and whispered in his ear, "_And be it moon, or sun, or what you please, henceforth I vow it shall be so for me ." _

* * *

_**A/N ** I feel this story needs an epilogue so I"ll be posting one! :)_


	17. Chapter 17

Epilogue

Fairgrove Hall, December 1920

Mary stood in front of their tree admiring it. The tree glistened with beautiful ornaments, some given to her and Matthew as wedding gifts, and other more personal ornaments had come from their parents. She and Matthew had placed their childhood tree decorations together in front. She reached down, pulling one of the little homemade ornaments off the tree, and turned it over in her hand. It was a tiny plaster of Paris hand print, and on the back a note was scribbled 'Matthew aged 5' in Isobel's handwriting. Mary traced the little fingers in the casting with her index finger. "Such a sturdy little hand print for a five year old boy."

Matthew replied while bending over a box, digging around for something. "I was an industrious child." He stood up holding a star.

She smiled and chuckled and returned the tiny ornament back to its rightful place on the bough. She looked back at Matthew. "What have you got there?"

"It's the star from my family's tree." He smiled broadly and inspected it for damage. "I think it's still in fine condition for our tree, don't you think?"

Mary nodded. "Yes, it's lovely! Would you like me to steady the ladder while you place it on top?"

He thought about it. "I have a better idea. How about if I steady the ladder for you, and you can place it on the tree? A new tradition as it were!"

"Alright, if you insist," she went along with his idea, secretly pleased. He pulled the ladder closer to the tree and held it as Mary climbed up the rungs. As she stepped upward, Matthew admired her legs under the shorter, almost knee length skirt she was wearing. His eyes followed the length of her calves and knees up, underneath her skirt, where he could see the outline of her thighs. Suddenly, the ladder wobbled. "Matthew!" Mary's hand flew out, and he reached up and steadied her.

"It's alright, I've got you." He said reassuringly up to her.

"For heaven's sake, what the blazes are you doing down there! I could have fallen in to the tree!"

He chuckled and held the ladder tighter. "Don't be so dramatic. You would not have fallen in to the tree. I'm right here." He paused eyeing her legs again. "I was just admiring your legs. I don't think I've ever seen them from quite this angle before; unless, of course, we count that time in the garage, the night of your birthday."

She looked down at him. "Matthew Crawley," she breathed out, "please keep your mind on the business at hand."

Mary situated the star, holding her hands out, waiting for it to settle in to its place of honor on top of the tree. "Voila! It is perfect, Matthew!"

He tugged on her skirt hem. "Splendid, now come down from there."

Mary climbed back down and stood next to him. They both looked up at the star. "Oh, Matthew, I love it!"

"So do I." He paused, putting an arm around her waist. "I wish my father were here to see it on our tree. He would be so pleased."

She looked up at him. "Well we'll think of him every time we look at it, won't we?"

He spoke still looking up at the star. "Yes, most definitely."

Mary chose her next words carefully, speaking softly. "And if we have a son and name him Reginald, then the star will have special meaning for him, too, won't it?" She watched him for a reaction.

He nodded. "Yes, if we have a son…" His voice trailed off and he turned his head and looked at her. "Are you speaking hypothetically?"

She slowly shook her head and smiled. "No, I am not speaking hypothetically."

Matthew's eyes widened and his mouth was hanging open. "A baby? Are you saying you are having a baby?"

Mary smiled. "Actually, _we _are having a baby."

His smile disappeared and his face was suddenly pensive with anger. "Oh, my, God, and you just climbed up the bloody ladder! Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"Matthew, honestly, don't be so dramatic, _really_…"

"Oh, for God's sake, Mary!" He said tugging her gently by the hand, motioning her to sit on a nearby chair. He knelt down beside her. "Are you alright? When did you find this out? How do you feel?"

She laughed. "Dr. Clarkson confirmed it a week ago, and yes I feel perfectly fine." She looked at him. "It's _you_ I'm worried about." She brushed several fingers though his hair.

He chuckled at his own reaction and let out a breath. "I'm terribly sorry, truly, but why didn't you say something?" His hand rubbed hers in her lap.

"I did, just now!" She looked playfully exasperated. "I wanted to tell you while we were decorating our first tree."

He exhaled, looking at her from under his brows. "Well, you could have told me before I prompted you up a six foot ladder, for God's sake."

"I thought you liked looking at my legs from that angle?"

He softened his voice and his expression. "I _do_ like looking at your legs; but now they are supporting more than just you, aren't they?"

They laughed at each other and she bent forward, pressing her lips against his. As they kissed, his arms pulled her closer, and he deepened the kiss, but suddenly stopped. "Oh, I'm sorry…I mean." His words tumble out awkwardly, in a hushed whisper. "Is it alright to do that?"

"Yes," she murmured as she nudged him back on to the floor. He lay down on his back, laughing up at her, as she knelt over him. "It is most certainly alright to do this." Her voice was sultry and deep as she bent over him, kissing him. He rolled them over, so that he was leaning over her, his lips leaving tender moist kisses along her jaw and down her neck. As Mary bent her head back she glanced over at the little hand print decoration hanging from the bough, thinking how it is the same hand that now moved over her body tenderly and lovingly…and how another small hand was now growing inside her.

"Yes," she whispered to him. Mary closed her eyes and was lost in bliss….

_**Fin!**_

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**A/N** Thank you for reading one and all! It was fun to write! :)


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